


Daybreak

by sp1lt_1nk



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (I love that tag because its a pun), (before amputation), 1940s music, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Artist Steve Rogers, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Body Horror, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes-centric, Christmas Fluff, Chronic Pain, Deaf Clint Barton, Demisexual Bucky Barnes, Dissociation, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Healthy Sibling Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Nightmares, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Prosthesis, Protective Bucky Barnes, Psychiatric Service Dog, Recovery, Service Dogs, Sick Steve, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Texting, Timeline What Timeline, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Wingman Sam Wilson, coffee addict Bucky Barnes, eventual Steve Rogers/ Bucky Barnes, just a couple of dumbasses, love over thai food, mentions of vomit, not BIID, so much coffee, steves just an old man in a young body, therapist pepper potts, wanted amputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:22:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp1lt_1nk/pseuds/sp1lt_1nk
Summary: He didn't remember much about being rescued; it was all a blur of pain and screaming.  Bucky wasn't entirely sure if he was screaming or people who had captured him. Fast forwards nine long, excruciating months and he was once again lying in a hospital bed. Sure, he was missing most of his arm, but he prefered it that way.This work specifically focuses on Bucky returning from war in a modern setting (no super-human strength, serum, or amazing robot arm, sorry.) This work does contain potentially triggering content such as descriptions of anxiety attacks, PTSD triggers, and flashbacks due to Bucky's time in the army as well as when he was captured by hydra. However, it's not heavy handed 24/7. A lot of this work is focused on Bucky healing, creating a relationship with his family and steve as well as readjusting to life as an elective amputee.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for dropping by and checking out this story. As a disclaimer I am not an amputee or person with limb indifference, nor am I a war veteran, nor am I someone who has severe PTSD. I am, however, an avid reader and someone who's pet peeve is unsupported and uneducated works. I have spent many hours researching and I will undoubtedly spend many more throughout the continuation of this story. If you have any corrections, suggestions, or constructive criticism I'd love to hear it! Please please please leave me a comment (especially if you have insight into any of the topics in this work!) I appreciate your time to read and to hopefully give me some feedback. Thanks and I hope you enjoy :)

"James." 

Bucky blinked slowly then shook his head and refocused his attention to Pepper.

"You're drifting. We can reschedule if you need, but I think it'd be good for you. Even 15 minutes would be beneficial." 

"No," Bucky adjusted himself to a more comfortable position. "No, I can do it, 'm just a bit tired."

"I'd be surprised if you weren't," Pepper smiled gently from where she sat effortlessly in an uncomfortable hospital chair. "Why don't we go through some things that haven't changed so we can refocus and ground ourselves, okay?"

Bucky nodded. Right. The grounding activity Pepper always had him working on. The objective was to find two things that he connected with before and after serving in the military. The point was to mostly to remember that he was still the same person. His brain was a little foggy from the pain meds that were being pumped into him. If he'd had his notebook he would fly through his. he'd written loads down, but it was in the duffle bag at the end of the bed and he refused to ask someone to get it for him.

"Uh... chocolate is better cold."

Pepper gave an encouraging nod.

"Anyone under 80 should never wear socks and sandals." He blinked out for a minute after that.

"Two more James." Pepper coaxed, bringing him back to the task.

"The Kardashians are overrated." He thought for a second then added, "And my arm hurts like hell."

pepper gave him one of those looks. A '_James we've talked about this_ and _your insurance is paying way too much for you to waste this time_' kind of look. of course, pepper would never say any of their time spent together was wasted. "progress is progress, James, no matter how small" she would have said- if she wasn't giving him the look.

"Okay, okay. Dogs are superior to cats."

"What if I said I've got three cats at home."

"I'd say you're lying. Never trust anyone with more than two cats," he joked half heartedly; he didn't trust many people anyway.

"There's Juniper, Prism, and Niko. My husband has ridiculous nicknames for them, but we have three cats." Pepper insisted

Bucky was shocked. "No. You? Having three cats? No." Pepper didn't seem like a cat person.

"I hope you trust me because we have a lot to cover."

Just like that Pepper had reeled him back to the topic he was avoiding. 

"Last session we talked about how your arm was causing you a great deal of stress and you believed it was a trigger for your flashbacks."

"Yeah... chronic pain and PTSD stuff." Bucky nodded solemnly.

"You've had a few days to adjust, how are you feeling about it?"

Bucky laughed at that. “God, it's a little too late to change my mind now, don't you think?”

“James.”

“I don't know… I'm glad, I guess?” Bucky said offhandedly, not wanting to talk about much of anything. 

“Glad?” Pepper prompted.

“Yeah. I hated it, y’ know.” 

Pepper did know. He’d talked about his arm a lot in their sessions. The pain of having reconstructive surgeries. The skin grafts that itched and the constant, bone-deep ache. His fingers that never seemed to work with him, and more often than not, worked against him. How the ugly scars on his arm from the surgeries and his time with Hydra made him feel like a cigarette butt ground under someone’s heel; used and snuffed out. 

Honestly, he wished the doctor had just taken the fucking thing off to begin with over nine months ago. It would have saved him months of recovery and physio, not to mention sleep.

“I couldn't even wear a t-shirt when I went running or have any mirrors in my apartment because of how much I hated it. If it wasn't for Becca and mom dragging me out of my complex to take her places I don't think I would have left my room. I might have gone out to get groceries but that's about it.”

_ Maybe I would have starved_

“Everyone handles pain differently, but having pain restrict your life like that is a valid reason for getting the limb amputated.” Pepper added. 

“I wish they would let me have the fucking thing so I could burn it.” 

“Based on what we’ve talked about in previous sessions,” Pepper segways away from that topic, “I know your relationship with your left arm has been difficult. Now, by no means will it be easy, but it will be a new way for you to move on, physically, from that part of your life. This is a new leaf, James.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured.

Pepper left after changing the subject to something lighter than the removal and destruction of his left arm. It was weird, Bucky thought. He could still feel his fingers twitch, but when he looks down where they should be, there was nothing there. 

“That was a good session, James.” Pepper reassured him before wishing him a speedy healing period, or whatever she says to avoid “hope you feel better soon,” because she knew he wouldn't and probably didn't want to rub it in his face.

Kathryn rushed into his room as soon as Pepper left. Even the nurses had to abide to the non-disclosure stuff. 

Kathryn was a sweet girl, but God did she worry. She checked his drainage tube, dressed his arm, then helped him to the bathroom by bringing his IV pole for him; he needed all his concentration to walk without the weight on one side. His other therapist, Helen, wanted him to start walking without aid so he didn't develop bad posture. She talked a lot about weight imbalance now that he was missing a solid nine to thirteen pounds of arm as of five days ago. 

Helen had also got him on a strict schedule of stretching, compression therapy, and moisturizing. She'd made him a laminated week-long schedule that had been attached to his wall with all of the time block filled in with each day's ins and outs. it was Thursday so he'd had room for an appointment with Pepper in the afternoon. Now it was back to learning how to do things with one arm, going over his hilariously long morning and evening routines, talking with doctors, therapists, the people who make prostheses, and everything in between. 

He was so exhausted and the ache in his arm didn't make sleeping easier either.

Of course, Helen gave him time to rest and recuperate but compared to only really spending time with Becca, his mother, and Pepper, Bucky was socially drained. Kathryn didn't help. Her constant checking in on him, writing something on his clipboard, and nagging him to redo his compression bandages had him rubbed the wrong way. 

“Kathryn, I'm _fine._” he growled from the bathroom as once again she started asking if he needed help. Dammit, he's not helpless. 

He’s lucky he didn't lose his dominant hand or else he would be screwed.

He avoied looking in the mirror but he'd already caught a glimpse of the gaping space where his arm used to be. A part of him mourned it. He pushed that away. It was his choice and he’ll stand by it. His remaining hand ghosted over the space where his arm used to be. 

“Weird.” he muttered to himself. He ran his hand over his scruffy face. Time to to shave off the five-day beard he had going. when he's only halfway done when Kathryn _yet again_ asked him if he needed any assistance before he snaps. Well, he would like to but he knew, somewhere in his brain, it was her job to care for him.

“Kathryn,” he said almost too calmly, “I really, _really_ just need some space right now. I promise I'll let you know if I need help.”

Anyway, Pepper was always telling him to create and share his boundaries with others. Today it was fucking Kathryn playing like a broken record. 

“Are you alright Sergeant Barnes? Feeling depressed or upset is common for amputees so I would-”

“Kathryn.” he was going to lose it if she didn't stop.

“Yes, sorry, Sergeant.”

he just wanted to shave and go back to sleep. He mentally added ‘stop being treated like useless fancy chinaware’ to the list as well.

He'd had better shaves. God, he'd had better shaves during his service, but he's proud to be able to finally do something by himself. 

He washed his face and hand, which is frustratingly difficult to do with one hand as it turns out, before getting back into bed with Kathryn’s help.

Two weeks is what Bucky had been told would be the absolute minimum of his stay at the hospital, so goddamn was he ready to get out. less than ten days. he could do this.

He was surprised at how much he learned after only a week. 

Although Bucky had been prepped and had many consultations with his doctor and therapists before making the big decision to go under the knife, he hadn't really educated himself that much. he'd been in too much pain and in a terrible mindset for him to be able to focus on any of the information thrown at him; now he soaked it all up like a sponge.

“So I should use tape instead of those metal clips?” he asked as Kathryn helped him through the process of wrapping his own arm for compression therapy. 

“Yep! It's easier to do with one hand and it also won't irritate your stump as much as the metal clips could.” she beamed when he wrote it down in his notebook.

The wrapping looked terrible, nowhere near as neat and as tight as Kathryn’s but he was getting better.

Progress is progress.

He hated the word stump.

Progress... boundaries... Pepper was practically beaming when Bucky had mentioned setting more boundaries and asking staff to stop referring to his left arm as a stump.

“It's not dead,” he reasoned, “It just not there. It makes my skin crawl when people talk about my arm like it has no purpose now. It has more purpose now than it has for nine months.”

they practiced ways Bucky could correct people or how to change the topic where he could feel more comfortable. 

He was bumped up to three weeks, but he was allowed to go home from Friday to Sunday.

The stitches finally came out; the drain had been removed a while ago. Now the next leg of the journey began.

Helen started him on desensitization therapy a few days after the stitches came out. This by far was the weirdest thing Bucky had done in regards to his arm. There was a rubber ball that looked like a child’s toy that he would gently roll around his residual limb, gradually getting it used to sensations like fabric and other tactile things. Running water had been the worst.

Compression therapy continued. Helen said he'd probably have to do it for months to keep the swelling down and controlled. 

One out of many things Bucky hadn’t planned for was the phantom pain. He'd heard of it and he’d already experienced chronic pain, But the phantom pain for the first month was terrible. He’d tried acupuncture and the thing with the mirrors, but nothing really worked besides massaging the skin on the end of his arm and powering through. 

His doctor had suggested a low dose of codeine or morphine. Bucky had known people that went down that road for medical reasons only to never stop so he shot that option down quickly. He didn't trust himself with any stong medication or alcohol, he always got too paranoid or angry.

He turned to instead taking his frustration with the pain out on something else: working out. He was told that he needed to keep up his physical activity for the best results. He'd never had a problem with working out and keeping fit. He'd done just fine on his basic training too, he could take it. Helen monitored him the first few times and then eventually Chloe, yet another therapist, took him to the rehab center to help him change his routine to help fit his goals for strengthening his core and shoulders. He met other people with limb indifference or other barriers that probably landed them in rehab. He tried swimming and hated it.

By week five he was declared an outpatient and only needed to come back for regular checkups and fitting for his prosthesis, which he was told could take a few months so he should try to get accustomed to living without one for a while. 

It was strange going from such a busy schedule and interacting with so many people just to go back to his apartment. Becca thought he should get a goldfish. His kid sister did have a point, he needed a friend. 

“Maybe we can get one without a fin! It’d be like you Bucky.” Becca bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly. “You're like Nemo!”

Really, all Bucky had in relative terms to friends were other vets and his family... possibly Pepper. No one from high school was remotely integrated in his life. He hadn't bothered wasting his precious letters and video chats on high school acquaintances when he could instead talk to his mom and half-sister. 

Bucky smiled at that and gave her a one-sided hug. “Yeah, let's go get us a goldfish.” 

“I got a pet,” he announced to Pepper during their next session a week later.

“Oh?” Pepper skepticly looked up from her desk and raised her eyebrows. They had moved back to doing their appointments in her office now that Bucky was released from the hospital.

“Well.. three to be exact. Becca couldn't just pick one fish. now we have Sushi, Peach and Ariel,” he elaborated. “Rebecca thought I needed a friend.”

“By 'we' are you implying your sister now stays with you or…?”

“No, she still lives with my mother.” 

Pepper hummed as she jotted something down. “How old is she now?” she asked after looking back to Bucky.

“Becca? She's turning seven this year,” he replied as he loosely fiddled with the empty sleeve of his sweater. 

“And your mother is…"Pepper faltered before flipped though some notes. "forty-five?” she asked, unsure. 

“Yep, had me at nineteen,” Bucky confirmed.

“I recall you joined the military at nineteen.” Pepper pointedly remarked.

“Yes.”

“Do you think there's a connection between your mother having you at a young age and you leaving for the military why you were that young as well?”

“I guess there could be but I wasn't exactly planned. I chose to go to the military to support my mother. She didn't choose to have me.” Bucky had thought about it but he’d never dug too deep.

“I believe you had a greater sense of responsibility after filing in for where your father should have been supporting the family. It was a common occurrence in the thirties and forties because of world war two for young men to go to war to help out with family trouble.”

“I did not have to pick up my mom's slack, or my dad’s,” Bucky shot back, ready to defend his parents.

“No-no-no. I'm not saying you were picking up the slack, it was an unconscious act to help your mother. You talk about your childhood being hard, but you always talk about your mother with such respect and admiration. I think as a child you wanted to help, even if you didn't know how to. Then, as a young adult, you found a way to go to school and have a job with benefits and would help support your family back home while having the appeal of travel and helping your country.”

Bucky sat and thought about it. Sometimes his and Pepper’s sessions were spent thinking and going over new information. 

“I wanted to be just like him when I was little.” he mumbled to himself. “mom didn't want me to go because dad died in 1997 because of a freak accident in basic training.”

"it's just something to think about James. we rarely talk about why you joined the army."

Pepper gave him a few minutes to collect himself, passing him a box of tissues if he needed them.

“Anyway, Becca picked the fish so not my apartments isn't so lonely.” Bucky said, changing the topic. “she's such a sweet kid, I wish I could be a better brother for her.”

“From an outside perspective you're going a wonderful job.” Pepper praised.

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah right, I can barely get out of the house.”

“But you are getting out of the house, James. You got out of the house to go get goldfish.” Peppers soft smile graced her face. “before you only went out if it was necessary. Now, I don't know about you, but I think impulsively buying goldfish isn't exactly a necessary daily function.”

Bucky laughed at that, a quick sharp laugh. She did have a point. 

“Has she ever asked why you about why you got your arm removed or anything related to your time with the military?” Pepper asked after scribbling something down on her clipboard.

“Yeah, she's annoyed that I don't turn off the lights when we watch movies, she _especially_ doesn't like that I never make popcorn.” Bucky chuckled. he sighed and relaxed into the back of his chair. “She knew about the arm. She said that I'd be cooler if I had a robot arm so she was at least seventy percent of the reason I did this,” Bucky said as he gestured to his residual limb. “you know what? She said I was like Nemo when we were picking up the fish.”

Pepper awed at that, “How sweet.”

Bucky let out an exaggerated groan, allowing his head to fall back. “she's a handful but yeah, she's a good kid.”

The talk about his boundaries when people might ask him about what happened to his arm or how to center himself from spiralling when people stare.

“Rebecca had to shake me back in the stupid pet store,” Bucky said exasperatedly. “I was doing that thing you mentioned, about checking exits?”

“Yes, that's a common habit for military veterans with PTSD. In your case, this could be caused by your unpleasant time with Hydra or having to constantly check over your shoulder.”

“I hate it,” Bucky moaned, “I have to mentally map new places. I did it in the hospital too.”

“Are you feeling as if occurrences like his are happening more often?”

Bucky nodded after thinking for a while. “Yeah. I can't sit still when I'm home, I have to do something all the time. And I've started to feel sort of numb? I didn't notice it much before the arm came off but now that I'm not always in pain I've started to just… stop feeling things, I guess. I thought it was the painkillers at first, honestly.”

Pepper hummed then opened a drawer and started to pull out pamphlets. At this Bucky sighed deeply. 

“Pepper, I just throw them away, you know this.”

She did know that. When Bucky had first been referred to her she gave him enough pamphlets and printouts he had to use a bag to carry them on the subway. He was still in service then and had been bouncing around different therapists for a few months. 

"Just take them, I have too many of them anyway." She said as she handed over the stack of papers. “Most of them are about PTSD- James don't roll your eyes you just said you threw them out so I'm giving you more,” Pepper insisted.

They went through all of them. 

“this is the last one I promise,” Pepper reassured him as he unfolded the pamphlet.

The leather of the armrest stuck to his skin where his skin was exposed. His arm peeled off the material like velcro. The light that had been humming only slightly before now sounded like drones as he started to sink deeper into his head, like he was slowly being pulled under the surface of water.

“Shield?” he muttered as his shaking hand crumpled the corner of the paper. “Kinda stupid name for a therapy group,” he tried to joke but it wasn't working, something was caught in his throat. 

“James, are you alright?”

_Respond quickly or they’ll hurt you_

He gave a sharp nod.

_It was so cold his breath came out in puffs of steam. The lights were too bright and the back of the leather chair pressed firmly into his back_

_He couldn't move_

_He tried to wrench his arms free but they were tired firmly to the armrests of the chair, the ropes eating into his wrists. An electrical hum was accompanied by fevered voices and the slapping of boots on a wet floor. Water trickled somewhere. All he could see were shapes moving around in the dark; sharks fins slicing through the dark water. _

“James you’re having an anxiety attack,” A voice carved through the fog that filled the space- _No. it was the steam from his breath. He was breathing too fast. They would find him. He was running through a forest, the fog growing dense and suffocating. He had to slow his breathing, each rasping breath only added to the fog_

“Deep breaths James, in and out. There you go.” 

He broke the surface with a gasping breath only to see Pepper kneeling in front of him. He abruptly pushed himself away from the chair. the dog tags that were always carefully tucked away slipped out from under the neckline of his shirt and clanged together. 

He stopped breathing all together

“oh, James,” Pepper said with a false calm, wanting to reach out and comfort the sergeant but knew better than to do so. James wasn't one for physical touch at the best of times. “You have to breathe, honey. Common, you can do it.” Pepper made an effort to keep her own breaths deep and even, her voice never straying from the cool and collected tone it always had.

He sucked in a reluctant breath from where he stood, frozen.

“Good job James,” Pepper encouraged, hands always where he could see. “That's good, keep going. You’re in my office, back home. It's just us unless you want me to call someone.”

“No,” he croaked out.

“If you want you can sit on the floor with me and we can spend a few minutes breathing.” Pepper knew that leaving open-ended question after James and panic attacks or flashbacks helped him feel in control; there could be no wrong answer if there was no question.

After a minute James stiffly lowered himself to the floor, head between his knees as he pulled the air back into his lungs. Pepper counted softly, in two three four, out two three four.

Bucky’s hand carefully unclenched itself from the tags around his neck. He carefully tucked them back under his shirt, letting out a held breath as the warm metal rested on his chest. 

“Are you still with me, James?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice to hold. 

“I think we should stay here for a few minutes until you feel you feel safe. I want you to try and record what triggered...” Pepper paused for a moment “Was it a panic attack or a flashback?”

“Flashback,” he ground out.

“Okay, at some point before our next session I want to you to write down what triggered this particular flashback and your most common triggers. I want you to write me a list so I know what we should work on and what things make you feel unsafe so we can avoid them.”

Bucky nodded again before tucking his head between his knees again. He went through the steps he used to ground himself. He could feel the texture of the rug under his fingers, he could see the crumpled pamphlet in his hand. He could hear the steady ticking of Pepper’s clock. He could smell the faint aroma of lavender from the diffuser Pepper had on her desk. He took a deep breath before standing back up. 

“Thanks,” he tried to say but his voice still warbled slightly. God, it was just a stupid chair.

“Try to get some sleep, James.” Pepper said gently as she got up from the floor to escort him out of her office. 

Bucky used to drive a motorcycle, but that was when he had both hands. He hated taking the bus, or worse, the subway; too many people crammed into a small space.

It was dark by the time Bucky got back to his apartment. He flicked on the lights as soon as he was in the door, before going a quick sweep. No intruders and no forced entry. 

Sushi, Peach and Ariel were all happily swimming around in their tank when Bucky came into his room. Rebecca had insisted they live here because then they could watch over him and that the glowing light of the tank would scare away the monsters under the bed. 

“That's what mom used to tell me about my night light,” she’d said innocently. 

If only there were monsters under his bed, he could fight those. 

What about the monsters in his head?

With a groan Bucky sank onto his mattress. It enveloped him in a way that the bunks back in the army never would’ve. Sometimes he slept on the floor just so the mattress wouldn't swallow him when he fell asleep.

The gentle bubbling sound coming from the tank’s filter and the gentle reflection of light on water lulled Bucky to a sort of calm, he watched as peach swam in lazy circles around the plants Becca had insisted eh purchase. Sushi, distinguishable by the bright red spots on her head, was eating bits of food from between the blue pebbles lining the bottom of the tank. Ariel was his favourite if he had to pick one. She had a butterfly-shaped tail that trailed through the water with a grace Bucky himself could never achieve in any body of water. She was the only actual goldfish out of the three. The employee at the store had said they wouldn't eat each other and that they would probably get along fine.

Bucky hauled himself out of bed to start his evening routine after he watched the fish swim in circles for an unreasonable amount of time. He took a quick shower, applied the creams Helen prescribed to him, and ran through the stretches Chloe showed him.

Sushi was still hoovering up bits of food when he came back to his room. He checked the window locks before he went to bed, a habit he’d never quite kicked. He tugged on some boxers and sat on the floor in front of the fish tank, the angles of the bed frame jutting into his back. 

He fiddled with his tags. He’d rather not wear them at all, but after seven years it’d been drilled into his head, the engraving on the mental also engraved into his skull.

_BARNES_  
_JAMES B._  
_325-57-038_  
_B POS_  
_NO PREFERENCE_

He fell asleep sitting in front of the fish tank, mumbling his service number until they didn't make sense.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky celebrates one month post op and finally gets his prosthesis!!!

Bucky celebrated his first month with one arm by making pancakes. He and Rebecca had gone out to buy toppings while his mother started on the pancakes. Strawberries, blueberries, caramel sauce, Nutella, and whipped cream were all loaded into a shopping bag. 

“I have two hands, Bucky,” Rebecca whined as they walked back to their mom’s house. "I can carry it." 

“Well, I need to make sure my arm is super strong so I can still pick you up- Like this!” he exclaimed and expertly scooped his little sister under one arm before starting to dash back to the house. His arm burned, but Rebecca’s shrieks of laughter made him smile. 

He did put her down eventually when he was worried his arm would fall off.

“Here, the bag’s too heavy now.” he said as he used his chin to hold the bag while he rummaged around for the container of chocolate spread. “Can you carry this for me?”

Rebecca expectantly held out her hands. Once it was in her grasp she protectively cradled it to her chest. 

They were almost to the house when Bucky heard the slap of feet on the cement behind them, gaining speed. Instantly his arm was around Rebecca, the bag falling to the ground with a clatter as the can of whipped cream rolled out, disregarded. 

Becca squeaked as he forcefully shoved her behind him. He whirled around to see- to see a sharply dressed man glanced at him as he dashed across the road, his shoes weren’t combat boots or the black buckled boots he’d seen so many times in his dreams. 

“Bucky,” Becca whined as she wiggled out of his slack grasp to retrieve the can of whipped cream that was making a break for it. 

Bucky barely registered her voice as he watched the man make it to the other side before a bus blocked his view. The bus rattled by but the man kept briskly walking away from them.

“You dented the can.” Becca observed as Bucky grabbed the bag and began walking again, one of his strides were two for her short legs. 

Rebecca now was cradling the whipped cream can and the Nutella in her arms like one of her dolls.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered, distracted as he swept the area. There was no obvious danger but the hair on the back of his neck still stood up when a stray leaf blew across the sidewalk. 

The front door snapped shut after Bucky, he toed off his shoes before following Becca into their mom’s small house. 

Andrew, his stepdad, was cooking pancakes in the kitchen while his mother set the table. 

Andrew looked up from the stove as Bucky set the bag down on the kitchen counter. “James, good to see you, young man,” he said as he flipped a pancake. 

Bucky wanted to frown but he forced his features to relax. He might have a problem with Andrew, but his mother loved him so he’d suck it up for her. 

“Nice to see you too, Andrew,” he said stiffly before starting to unpack what he and Becca had bought.

“Daddy!” Rebecca ran in from the living room and warped her tiny arms around her father’s waist. Their mother followed after her, smiling softly to see her family together.

“Hey peanut,” Andrew chuckled as he ruffled her hair. 

Bucky’s heart ached. 

“How’s the stump?” Andrew asked but it felt more like a jab. Bucky recoiled, turning to hide the arm in question out of view. 

_Defect_

“It's fine,” He snapped. God, this was supposed to be a good day. 

He pushed past his mom to get out of the kitchen, to go anywhere but the kitchen. He couldn't stand it; Andrew staring at his arm and his mother looking at her new husband like he was the world… like his dad now meant nothing.

“Bucky,” his mother sighed, in empathy or disappointment he couldn't tell.

He loved her so much but he couldn't stand the domesticity of the whole situation, how he didn't fit into that. Family wasn't something that worked with Pepper’s grounding activity anymore.

He somehow ended up in the backyard, like he was on autopilot. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't so instead he ground his teeth and fisted his hand in his hair. He preferred the numb feeling over anger. He pushed his back into the bark of the tree he was sitting against, the sharp edges stinging as he practically tried to crawl into it.

The soft patter of feet over grass made him sharply look up from where he was glaring at the ground. Rebecca padded over to him and sat on his left side. 

“Mom said the pancakes are almost ready,” Becca announced as she leant into Bucky. He tensed up when her head rested on his upper arm. 

“Why don’t you move to this side?” he asked, finally letting go of his hair so she could lean against his other side without getting and elbow in the face.

“Because this side must be cold because you don't have your arm anymore, duh,” she informed him as if it was common knowledge. He dropped his arm back down to his side.

“Oh.” 

“Rebecca! Bucky! Breakfast’s ready!” their mother hollered from the house a few minutes later. Becca took off running while Bucky trailed behind her. 

The pancakes were great, of course. Bucky could eat pancakes every day, but he didn't want to add more to his workout than he already had, so it was best to stick to pancakes for the best occasions. He’d found that he and Rebecca shared some things in common, such as whipped cream was absolutely necessary for a good pancake breakfast. Bucky had a little self-control, but Becca really went for it. Andrew practically had to sit on the can to keep it out of his daughter’s reach. 

It was an awkward affair, but having his mouth full of fruit, sugar, and starch helped him avoid answering questions.

“I guess you get the best seats on the subway now,” Arthur quipped, as he polished off his last pancake. 

The bite of pancake Bucky had swallowed sank like a rock to the pit of his stomach. He felt sick. 

“I don't… I don't take the subway,” Bucky mumbled as he stared at his plate. 

“Don't get out of the house much? You never visit.” it was like Andrew was trying to push him over the edge. God, he didn't want to lose it in front of Rebecca or his mom.

“Andrew, honey, I don't think-”

“Mom, it's fine.” Bucky interrupted, as he briskly went to put his plate in the dishwasher. 

“Well I'm just saying he spends more time with our daughter than with us.”

Bucky slammed his plate down onto the counter so hard it broke. 

“Shut up.” he growled, his long hair falling in front of his eyes. “Shut up!”

“James-”

“No!” he seethed, gripping the kitchen counter with white knuckles. 

“Bucky?” Rebecca’s voice sounded so small and frightened. 

Andrew moved between her and Bucky, a shield protecting her from the big angry bear. “Rebecca, stay here I think he’s having one of those psd fits.”

“Its PTSD, Andrew! PTSD! They're not called fits and if you’d ever educated yourself you would know that,” he snarled. 

“And before you ask, no it's not in my head, no I can't just get over it, and no I'm not dangerous.” 

_Maybe he was a beast Rebecca needed to be protected from_

Bucky detached himself from the counter, a smear of red left in his wake. He shoved past Andrew and his mother to clumsily tug on his shoes.

“James I-” Andrew started but Bucky didn't let him finish.

“Its Bucky!” he yelled before slamming the front door shut behind him.

Pepper sympathized after bucky told her everything that happened at their next session.“I'm sorry that you had to experience that.” 

“It’s-” _ fine, okay, no big deal?_ Bucky groaned. “Yeah, it was shitty but I've been in way worse situations where I was able to keep my cool.”

Pepper nodded in understanding.

They worked on recognizing self depreciative thoughts and redirecting them into realistic thoughts instead. Pepper made an obnoxious ‘incorrect buzzer’ sound whenever he started to talk shit about himself. It helped, for a few days afterwards he heard Pepper buzzing him when he was too hard on himself.

Over the past month he’d been working with a team out prosthetists to come up with a functional arm for his daily life. 

“I work out, I guess.” he supplied when he was asked about his daily activities. “I run most of the time and I do pushups… plus more generic workout stuff.” 

They did a trial run with a few arms. None of them fit him perfectly, but he got a good idea of the mechanics of them. 

Helen had been working with him since the day after surgery to be able to get an arm on as soon as he could. They’d used an interim prosthesis for a while. Now there were going a step further with starting to build an idea of what exact arm he should get. 

He had good insurance, somehow he’d managed that, and his k-levels were high enough that most insurance companies would cover for him anyway. He had a great chance because he was fit and it wasn't his leg that had been amputated. Helen had no problem supplying him with a level 4.

“It's a good thing you’re so muscular,” Darcy commented as she helped him get the tester of a body-powered arm on. 

Darcy explained that with the body-powered arm bucky would use cables attached to the prosthesis and his shoulder to manually operate the arm. On the pullback of his shoulder, he could cause the elbow point to move. 

“Honestly, with all the advances in tech in the last ten years I don't recommend this one to many people.” Darcy confessed as she instructed bucky on how to take it off, only stepping in if he was doing something wrong and when he couldn't reach the clasp on the back. 

“See! You can't even take it off yourself.” she groaned. “I have to show everyone both options for these bad boys, but I promise the next one’s better.” she shook the body-powered arm gently. “This is an old man compared to the stuff they’re making now.”

Bucky smiled at her enthusiasm.

The next was something called a hybrid arm. It had the elbow of the previous arm but it was improved from the “old man” as Darcy had called it. 

“Just try popping it a few times. His time you just have to tense instead of shrug,” Darcy instructed as she perched on her stool, disinfecting the arm he had tried on previously. “Great!” she exclaimed when he managed to get two solid bends. 

“This is so fucking weird.” Bucky remarked as he tried to extend the limb again.

“I've heard that so many times, dude. I totally get you.” Darcy said as she spun her wrist all the way around, a perk of her prosthetic hand. 

“Enough with the elbow, let's get to the good stuff!”

The hand was quite cool looking. It was like something out of _Star Wars_ with its sleek black finish. Bucky felt like a cyborg with it attached to him. 

“Okay… so this is the tricky bit. Basically, you just have to open your hand.”

Bucky looked at her like she was out of her mind.

“Well you just flex the muscles… just give it a go, it's very hard to explain. Flex as if you were opening your hand.” Darcy tried to clarify but bucky was lost. “It's just something you figure out yourself.”

He tried for a solid fifteen minutes until the hand finally opened and closed. 

“Holy shit! How’d it do that?” 

“So that's the myoelectric part, that's what makes it a hybrid. The system takes electrical signals from your remaining muscles and uses that data to open, close or rotate your hand. Depending on what model you're interested in and your budget, we can look at more specific features.” Darcy explained as she opened and closed her fist by flexing her arm.

Bucky had always been one to love technology, he’d wanted to be an engineer after high school, but his grades didn't land him in university and he wouldn't have been able to go anyways because of the cost. So instead he joined the military to earn money and to have the potential to get cheaper education. 

“There's also a complete myoelectric setup but it's pricy and I don't have a tester for that one. These were donated a few years ago so even now they’re outdated. I hope you're not one of those people that needs the newest version of something because your wallet’s going to hate you,” she snickered. 

“Nah. I don't need the best. I just need something that works,” bucky admitted with a shrug.

“Smart man. Have a preference?” she saw his gaze immediately flick to the hybrid.

“Its a good one for sure, but it might not stand up to your working out. Don't worry though, there are specially designed arms for bodybuilders and such. I'm sure we can figure something out.” 

Bucky blushed out of embarrassment. “I'm definitely not a bodybuilder,” he mumbled sheepishly. 

“So...the hybrid?” Darcy asked, returning to the subject.

“Yeah… I guess.” 

Darcy focused her intense stare on him. “You're gonna be stuck with this thing for a while so you should be sure.”

“Yeah, I think this one’s good- I mean this one’s good.” 

So the process began and the arm was ordered. 

Bucky didn't particularly care about the aesthetic appeal of the arm so he skipped the highly-priced silicone glove. he wasn't about to blow thousands of dollars on skin for his new arm.

“It doesn't affect how it's used, it just makes it look more realistic.” Darcy’d clarified.

Even with his insurance covering some of the cost, the arm still was extremely expensive. He reminded himself it was worth it and that he was allowed to buy something for himself, even if he could function without it. 

He practiced with Darcy’s arm a few times a week when he had appointments. Out of all the doctors he’d met, Darcy was the most human out of them. 

When he got confirmation that the arm had arrived he asked Darcy if he could bring Rebecca to come to see it.

“Of course!” Darcy replied happily “the more the merrier.”

They arrived a little early, having taken a walk through a dog park.

“He Rebecca, I'm Dr. Lewis, but I prefer Darcy,” she said cheerily to Rebecca. She turned to bucky, “I hope you don't mind, but I set everything ups so all we have to do is double-check the socket and then we’re good to go. Did you buy at least one liner?” 

Bucky nodded and held up the incredibly expensive liner he’d bought a few days ago. “That's fine," he said, "I just want to get it done with anyway.”

“Great! Then we can get started right away.”

the socket had to be minorly adjusted but eventually, it fit snugly to bucky’s arm, the straps we adjusted and bucky now had two arms again. 

“Whatdya think Bec?”

“Can I touch it?” she asked Darcy with huge eyes. “Can I?” 

Darcy nodded as she laughed at the little girl’s fascination with the prosthesis. “Sure, I don't see why not.”

Rebecca made her way over to bucky and inspected him. He felt exposed without his shirt on in the room. he kept thinking about how both Darcy and Rebecca has to see the scars that riddled his back and chest. He stood perfectly still as the six-year-old made her rounds before she reached up and as if to give him a high five. 

“Okay, this might take me a sec,” Bucky muttered as he used his shoulder to bend the prosthesis at the elbow. It took him a minute or two but eventually, he got the hand to open up, ready for a high five. 

Rebecca smiled wide as she reached up on her toes to give her half brother a high five.

“You're the coolest brother, you know?” Becca announced as they walked home, Rebecca’s hand in his new one. 

“Oh really?” Bucky gasped in fake surprise. “_The_ coolest?”

“Yep!” Rebecca replied, popping the p. “I think you are anyway.”

“Glad to hear it, monkey.”

They stopped when Rebecca spotted the fluffiest golden retriever Bucky had ever seen.

“Can I go say hi to her Bucky?” Rebecca pleaded, “Please? Please please please-” 

Bucky laughed at that. “Ask first okay?” 

She let go of his hand to run over to the dog, who was absolutely huge compared to her. 

“Hello!” Rebecca said to the dog who had a slobbery red ball in its mouth “can I pet you?”

Bucky let out a hearty laugh at the interaction; of course, the kid would interpret it as ask the dog, not the dog’s owner. 

“Rebecca, I meant the dog’s owner,” he yelled from where he was standing. 

“Oh, it's okay,” said a voice from behind him. 

Bucky spun on his heels so fast the thought he might fall over. 

“She’s my dog.” the man standing in front of him clarified. He was handsome. tall, blond, and fit with soft blue eyes. 

“Mister, can I please pet your dog?” Rebecca yelled back from where she was with the dog.

“Absolutely!’ the man replied over Bucky's shoulder. “She’s old, but she'll do anything for ear scratches.”

The man brushed past bucky to walk over to Becca and the dog. “Her name’s Peggy,” he told Rebecca as he crouched down to give the old dog a good scratch behind the ears. Peggy panted happily. 

“We should have gotten you a dog, not fish.” Rebecca sighed as she sat down on the grass, giving Peggy the best ear scratches her little fingers could offer. 

Bucky could feel the blond man looking up at him. He was glad he was wearing a sweatshirt so almost all of his new arm was covered. Still, he shifted to keep it out of sight.

“We need to get going,” Bucky declared after checking the time.

Rebecca pressed a kiss to Peggy’s head and ran back over to Bucky. 

“Have a nice day,” the guy with the dog called after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone is wondering about Bucky's arm I've modelled it after a Bebionic hand but with the whole AE arm prosthesis as well. I thought about giving bucky a full myoelectric arm but I think his character doesn't want to spend a shitload of money on something he could get by without. also, peep steve in the very last bit! I'm very excited to keep updating this story :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky meets his service dog for the first time! there are mentions of potentially triggering content (flashbacks and war-related stuff)

“I think it’s getting worse,” Bucky announced when he sat down in Pepper’s office. He would have mentioned it earlier but he had just thought that it would get better again.

“What’s getting worse?”

“The PTSD, I keep having nightmares,” he explained as he opened and closed his left hand. He’d had it for a month but he was nowhere near having fluid control of the prosthesis. 

“How so?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, mumbling a curse under his breath. “Shit, Pepper I don't know. Every time I fall asleep I'm back at war or I’m there or something worse,” he shuddered. “I'm back on the table and they’re killing my team or my family. Sometimes I'm killing them myself and sometimes I just wake up and-” Bucky’s voice cut out as he realized he didn't want to voice those thoughts. “They’re just worse.”

“Anything else? More flashbacks, anger, irritability, or feeling numb?”

Bucky shrugged, “I guess the numb feeling’s still there, and if I don't leave my apartment the flashbacks aren’t the worst.”

“James...” 

“I know but the meds aren’t working, or they are but not enough.” He was taking at least four, possibly five, if he remembered to take all of them. 

“We have to work with the medication they can't-” 

“Yeah, I get that, Pepper! But I can't. _I_ can't.” Bucky interrupted, defeated. “I'm so afraid I'm going to hurt someone. I've read about that, by the way. How people come home and get so angry they hurt people.” he ran his hand through his hair again, tugging harder than necessary. 

“Anger is a common symptom, especially for veterans.” Pepper insisted for the umpteenth time.

“I'm angry all the time! All the fucking time and I don't know what or who I'm angry with,” he shouted, launching out of his chair to start pacing. “Do you know how many people I killed Pepper?” he asked, stopping to face her.

“No, I don't,” she replied truthfully. 

He started pacing again.

“Too many to count. Most I didn’t know, some I didn't even see,” he said bitterly as he paced. “They called me the Winter soldier because I had cold and deadly efficiency; whatever it took to get my guys out alive, right? Ha! look how well that worked.”

The session didn't go very well.

It was a rough few days. On the third day of not sleeping or shaving, Bucky got a phone call at an ungodly time of night. 

“Whaddaya want?” he slurred from both the exhaustion and the vodka after he picked up the phone. He’d let the call go to voicemail three times but the caller was an asshole and obviously thought they had time in Bucky’s busy schedule of wallowing in self-destruction. So much for not drinking.

“Bucky,” Pepper’s voice said too loudly in his drunk ears, “I think I've found something.”

He went to see Pepper first thing the next morning. He snagged two large coffees for himself on the way there to try and wake himself up. It was a fruitless attempt and he felt like utter shit when he walked into Pepper’s immaculate office.

“God, James. What happened?” Pepper fretted, taking in the dark purple shadow under Bucky’s eyes and the unshaven mess that was his face. 

“Don’t really wanna talk about it,” he mumbled before draining his second coffee. “So what's the plan?”

“Are you sure you're okay because we can-” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Pepper, I'm never okay.” 

“James-” Pepper started again but Bucky shut her down.

“Just tell me why you called me yesterday.”

Pepper took a deep breath before handing him another fucking pamphlet.

“You’re shitting me, right? Another one?” 

“Just read it.” Pepper sighed, exasperated.

Bucky had to read the front cover twice to understand.

“It's a non-profit organization that matches people with disabilities with service dogs. I was reading through the benefits and I really think this could help you. It’s a huge responsibility and is something that takes time, but if you're interested we can start the research and get you in touch with other handlers that have dogs specifically trained to respond to PTSD.”

“I already have three emotional support fish,” Bucky said jokingly, although he eyed the pamphlet warily.

“Yeah, but can those fish create space for you in crowded areas or can they stop panic attacks before they happen?” Pepper countered.

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Dogs can do that?” 

“If you read the pamphlet and do your research you’ll find they can do a lot more,” Pepper said with an encouraging smile. 

For the first time in the whole ten months he’d worked with Pepper, this marked the first day in their history that he’d actually read one of the pamphlets.

He did his research over the course of a few months. He watched videos on youtube of service dogs working and listened to people talking about how they changed their lives. His notebook for therapy quickly filled up with notes about dogs. 

“This is the most dedicated I’ve seen you in a long time, Bucky,” his mother said when he visited again, this time without Andrew. 

“what about the army or when I worked my ass off in high school?”

“honey, I know you think it hasn't been that long since you got back, but it has,” his mother spoke softly as they sat on the back porch of her house. “I remember when you got out of the hospital and you flinched at every little sound.” his mom laughed sadly, “I didn't know how to help you, and then you couldn't get back in because of your arm.”

He flexed his prosthesis. “Yeah well, I would’ve had shit aim after that.”

She laughed, and Bucky had missed her so much. This was home, her laugh and smile, even if they were sad.

“I love you,” he said, tentatively wrapping his flesh arm around her. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. You scared me so much when I heard you were in the hospital.” she was crying now, tears rolling down her soft face. “I would have fought tooth and nail to keep you if the military had tried to take you back.” she reached up to cup Bucky’s face. “I love you, because you're a great man, a strong man, and you’re my son. And I will always love you; even when it gets hard and when you feel like you’ve got nothing. I will always, _always_ be there for you. Your father was always so proud, too. I know he’s not here right now, but he would be so goddamn proud of you, James.”

They both cried at that. 

“So, tell me about your dog.” his mom said finally after wiping the tears from her face.

“Well…” Bucky started. “I don't have one yet, but they told me I could come in and meet some of them next week on Friday.”

He’d applied to potentially get one of the dogs months ago when he’d gone on the waitlist. He wasn't sure then that he’d be able to take care of a dog but Clint, the founder of the organization, had said that the waitlist could take months for you to even get to the position to meet the dogs, let alone be able to own one. 

So he’d researched and found more and more he was excited to get paired up with a dog, even if he had to wait. He spent almost an unhealthy amount of time researching, but he needed to be one hundred percent on board with owning a dog. His apartment was pet-friendly, so he wouldn't piss off the landlord, and was big enough for him, his fish, and a dog. There was a dog park on the way to his prosthetist and there were other parks close by as well. He was decently situated in his apartment.

The week dragged on at an agonizing pace. Bucky had never felt so eager to get out of his apartment before. 

He and Clint had been chatting, both in person and over Skype, about how things would go. 

“typically, “ Clint’s voice said though his laptop speakers “you meet two to three dogs. Each service dog is different so we can't just pair you up with any dog. There’s no wrong dog either. They all have been trained for the same tasks, but dogs, like any living thing, have personalities. We believe that if you find a god that matches your personality or lifestyle, then they are less likely to wash out.” 

“When would I be able to take one home? I don't know about that whole process.” Bucky admitted.

“Every organization does it a little differently. We do a crash course with you once you've been paired with a dog. We go over all the tasks and we start to do desensitization them by introducing them to you, your home, potentially your work or family, and places you go regularly. You, the handler, will have to continue to introduce your service dog to new things, people, and places. however, we go through all of that with you as well.” Clint explained, illustrating the process for Bucky. 

“Thanks for all your time, Clint,” he said because he genuinely appreciated how Clint made sure that all his questions were answered or he was able to direct him to someone who knew. Clint was hearing impaired and after getting a service dog himself, he dedicated his life to training service dogs. 

Clint chuckled. “It's my job, but I'm happy to help anytime. We’ll see you tomorrow around 9 AM?”

“Absolutely. I'll be there.” Bucky confirmed as he prepared to end the call.

“Try and get some sleep, okay man? You look dead on your feet.”

“I'll try,” Bucky replied before ending the call. 

He tried. He really, really did. He only got a few hours of sleep before he was waking up gasping and covered in sweat. He didn't even remember the details of the nightmare, just the empty, sucking feeling when he woke up.

He rolled over and watched his fish until his alarm when off, telling him to wake up- if only he’d been asleep.

Miraculously Bucky had learned to drive a car. He’d practiced in an empty parking lot before he ever attempted driving on an actual road. It was a three-hour drive to get to the location so Bucky listened to podcasts the whole way there, trying to distract himself. 

Finally, he was pulling into the driveway to the organization. He’d once wanted to live in rural New York, but somehow he’d ended up somewhere between the big city and where he was now. 

Clint’s property looked like it had once been a farm. There were old stables and a huge barn but there were no animals besides two horses that were grazing as he slowly drove past; they didn't even look up. The driveway went all the way up to the large barn. From where he parked Bucky could make out a few other buildings on the property. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man and a dog. He immediately locked the doors to the car and went for his bag, trying to find the knife he kept on him at all times. 

_Shit. Bomb squad? No, they look for bombs; Good guys. Who then? shitshitshitshit_-

Knuckles rapped on his widow and Bucky flinched so badly he hit his head on the steering wheel as he shot up from his hunched position.

“Sergeant Barnes.” the man said, voice muffled by the car door. “Didn't take me up on that sleep, did you?” 

Then it hit Bucky: It was Clint. His district way of speaking set him out from anyone Bucky knew, which was a very short list of people. Of course it was Clint. How fucking stupid did he have to be to think it was anyone _but_ Clint? 

Bucky discreetly tucked the knife back into his bag, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the vehicle. He dipped his head to avoid the judgmental gaze. “Couldn't really sleep.” He avoided looking at Clint, but he did see his beautiful dog. Some sort of labrador, he assumed. 

He took a glance through the curtain of hair over his face to see that Clint looked confused. 

_Of course, you idiot, he’s fucking deaf_

Clint read lips to understand what people were saying, that's why they’d had to talk face to face or over skype. Bucky forced himself to look up and repeat what he’d said again.

“Well, some excited dogs are wanting to meet you, sleep or no sleep. Wanna get started?” Clint asked with a chuckle, completely disregarding Bucky’s strange behaviour.

“Absolutely.” was Bucky’s sure reply.

Clint lead him to the barn, which, now that he was inside, he could see that it had been renovated for dog training. The floor was a solid concrete base and there was an obstacle course that took up half of the space, the other half was empty.

“This is Lucky, my hearing dog. She’s a golden retriever and chocolate lab mix.” Clint said, introducing his dog once the were in the barn. Lucky gave him a panty smile, her tongue lolling out to one side.

“Okay,” Clint said, refocusing on the task at hand. “so the first dog that we think is a good match is Monty. He’s a King Charles spaniel, so he’s small but he’s exceptionally affectionate and loyal. I'm going to get my wife to bring him out, okay?” Clint was cautious. He’d probably noticed Bucky trying to keep tabs on all the doors on the barn; there were a lot of them.

“Sure,” Bucky replied, although he wasn't completely present. The barn was a large open building. The walls were at least twelve feet tall and then the roof extended upwards off of that. It was better than being outside where anyone could approach from any angle, but someone could easily pick him off from the rafters. 

One of the doors opened and Bucky immediately did a full body turn to see who it was. A young woman, although she was most likely older than him, entered the room with a small dog. Clint whistled and the woman let go of the dog’s leash as it bounded happily over to Clint. She made a few rushed gestures, sign language Bucky assumed, before closing the door behind her.

“Good boy.” Clint praised Monty before turning to Bucky.

“Monty’s tasked more towards emotional support than a full psychiatric service dog. He was an ESA before my wife, Laura, trained him a bit more. She was the one who just brought him in,” Clint illuminated Bucky. “He’s there for reassurance when you have flashbacks or a panic attack and to be present so that during a dissociative episode he can do things like deep pressure therapy or use interruption tasks to try and get your focus back and ground you.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clint asked after instructing Bucky though a few of Monty's tasks.

“I don't… he's a good dog…” Bucky trailed off, not sure how to voice his incompatibility with the small dog.

“Say no more, say no more,” Clint assured as he traded dogs with laura. 

He felt too privileged; so many people couldn't afford to have a service dog yet he could just pick and choose.

“Hopefully this girl will be more your pace. This is winter-” Clint started before Bucky’s vision started to tunnel.

His mind snapped into action. _ Winter Soldier. the falling snow in Russia as his team inched closer to the location given to them. His pants frozen to his skin. The metal table he was strapped to while they tore up his arm-_

“No!” he exclaimed right in the middle of Clint’s explanation, backing away from the dog. “No, I’m sorry I can't - I can't- she’s-”

“That’s okay, that's okay.” Clint rushed to reassure him as Laura led the dog out of Bucky’s sight. “That's okay, I'm sorry that happened.” 

Clint gave in a minute to calm down before repeatedly asking if Bucky wanted to come back or if he wanted to take a break. 

“No, I'm fine. There’s one more, right?” Clint nodded. “Yeah. let's do it.”

“This is Atlas, she’s a german shepherd.” 

Bucky almost laughed in joy when his brain didn't blow a fuse. He’d had nasty experiences in Germany but his brain didn't care about that. 

Clint continued now that Bucky wasn't going to blow up. “She’s only a year old, but she’s done really well in her training. She’s been tasked specifically for people with anxiety disorders or PTSD.” The dog walked calmly by his side but she looked intently at Bucky, her cartoonishly big ears perked.

“Can I?” Bucky asked, looking up from Atlas to Clint.

“Call her? Sure,” Clint confirmed with a smile, dropping the dog’s leash. “Go for it.”

“Com' here Atlas,” Bucky called gently, crouching down with his arms open, encouraging.

Atlas trotted over, immediately pressing up against Bucky. She nuzzled her snout into the crook of his neck, panting slowly.

"She's helping you regulate your breathing," Clint explained. 

Bucky bought his arms around Atlas, hugging her. Her fur was soft in his face and he found himself relaxing, his breathing evening out. 

"Sweet dog," Bucky mumbled into Atlas's fur. 

"Yeah, she's a big sweetheart," Clint confirmed happily. "I'll give you a minute but I think this is your girl." 

Bucky smiled as Atlas burrowed her face further into Bucky. 

Clint ran though some of Atlas’s tasks and she completed each one beautifully. With each interaction, Bucky was feeling more and more confident that Atlas really was going to be his dog. Before long though, Clint had another appointment and Bucky had to go home.

“I’m assuming I can't take her with me can I?”

Clint shook his head. “I wish I could but she had to be integrated and not just thrown into a new life. I could send a handler to stay with you for a few days but they’d have to stay with you for a day or two in your apartment.”

Bucky thought back on his messy apartment. “Could I take her home tomorrow with a handler? I have some stuff to deal with but I have a guest room they could stay in…”

Clint agreed and Bucky went home with a sense of excitement instead of the corroded feeling of being numb.

He cleaned his apartment as he’d cleaned for basic training. It also looked like he didn’t live there; he had so few belongings. 

Bucky showered, shaved, and cleaned his prosthesis before flopping down on his bed. He rolled over to watch his fish nonchalantly swimming around. He was probably going to give them to Rebecca once Atlas was fully integrated into his daily routine. 

“Dad won’t let me get a puppy.” she’d said with a pout the last time Bucky had spent time with her; they’d gone to a little farmer's market.

“Well, my dog won't be a puppy,” Bucky said, trying not to romanticize his potential service dog. 

“But still, you’ll get to bring it everywhere with you and you’ll be best friends,” she complained, her nose scrunching up as she scowled at the plum Bucky had handed her.

Bucky had to remind himself that Becca was little and that she didn’t understand that, while having a service dog would help Bucky, the reason for getting a service dog wasn't pleasant.

“I think, since I'll have my hands full with a dog, maybe you could look after Sushi, Ariel, and Peach.”

Rebecca gasped in excitement and proclaimed that Bucky had to get a dog now, so she could help with the fish. 

Andrew was going to be pissed and Bucky couldn't wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some creative liberties with how Clint runs his charity because I wanted to give Atlas her best shot at working with Bucky. I know many facilities don't introduce you to multiple dogs, but I thought it seemed realistic because not every dog is the same and will work the same way for different people. *bonus* Monty the dog is alluding to two different characters! do you know witch? 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter please let me know if there are any interactions between Atlas and Bucky you would like to see in future chapters :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally gets to bring home atlas and makes a few friend!

Bucky worked closely with Clint and his staff to get Atlas integrated into his daily routine. Sharon, one of the handlers that worked at the non-profit, stayed with him for the first night just to make sure everything went smoothly. 

Atlas was something else. She was the best-behaved dog Bucky had ever met, but that was due to intense training. She also was extremely intuitive, resting her head on his knee when he got sucked into his head or even just nosing him gently when he felt something start to overwhelm him.

Sharon was mostly there to go over all of Atlas’s tasks and to navigate Bucky though things like going to the grocery store, seeing Pepper, and seeing doctors. 

The four days it took to get Atlas and make her accustomed to Bucky's apartment and schedule flew by. Atlas excelled and Bucky was just tagging along, trying to take everything in. 

Bucky had seen lots of handlers post about how having a service dog opened the floodgates for stranger’s judgment and speculation. Within the first day or two of taking Atlas out with Sharon they were asked many times about Atlas; what she did, if they could pet her, even as far as a lady who got very defensive when Bucky told her son he couldn't pet the service dog. 

“You could have at least said it nicely,” she scolded, holding her young child close to her side. 

Bucky was starting to panic; people in the mall were gathering and looking at both his service dog and his arm, or lack thereof. 

Atlas nosed his leg from her guard position behind him to keep people from approaching too close from behind. She prodded him with her nose again, picking up on his spike in adrenaline. Bucky tried to push through it but he was starting to feel himself slipping. 

“Atlas, door.” he ground out as Sharon handled the rude mother 

Atlas knew some amazing tasks. By saying door, Bucky was instructing her to take him to the nearest exit. A mall was a touch and go place because there were so many exits that could confuse Atlas, especially a new mall she didn't know, but she managed.

The mother was outraged "he doesn't just get to walk away! He was rude to my son!" 

Bucky was able to catch part Sharon’s snappy reply as Atlas towed him towards the parking lot exit. “I don't know who you are, lady, but you not only were rude to that man, but you distracted his service dog.” Bucky lost the rest of the confrontation after that.

Bucky wasn't a fan of people touching him when he was panicking or extremely stressed. For the most part, he didn’t want anyone to touch him; his mother and Rebecca were an exception because Bucky couldn't fathom them having ill intent. 

Atlas half-lead half-dragged Bucky, only stopping once they were in the parking levels. Bucky sank to the floor like a rock in water, his breathing ragged and uneven. The phantom pain in his arm flared up, like tiny needles piercing the skin on his residual limb. He hadn't worn his prosthesis due to some swelling so he didn't have the comfort of the encompassing pleasure from his shrinker.

Atlas had to nose her muzzle under his arm for him to realize he was digging his fingers into his shoulder to try and divert the pain. 

“Sorry, girl.” he breathed shakily as he let go of his arm, red crescent-shaped marks left in the wake of his fingers. 

Atlas just nosed his face, trying to press herself into his chest in a comforting gesture. Bucky uncurled slightly so his knees wouldn't block her attempts to calm him down and Atlas silently climbed into his lab, her wet nose pressing again his neck. She panted softly; Bucky could feel her chest moving with each breath against his and he found himself trying to match his hitching breath to her steady puffing.

he gradually wrapped his arm around her, his finger buried into her fur in a way that grounded him more than digging his fingers into his own flesh did. He ran his fingers through her fur, feeling it softly tickle the pads of his fingers. 

It was the quickest he’d ever calmed down from an attack he could remember. 

They sat like that for a few moments before the door to the parkade snapped open and Sharon was looking frantically for him. Her gaze settled downwards on him and Atlas curled up together on the ground. she sighed in relief and went back into the mall, letting them have their space. She sent him a text asking that he text her when he was okay. 

A few minutes ticked by before she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. 

James Barnes: _ can we go?_

She gently opened the door to the carpark he had been guarding, redirecting people to the other entrance with the help of security.

Bucky was still on the ground, but his posture was more open instead of caved in. Atlas was lying by his side, head rested on his thigh. She looked up only for a second at Sharon before she returned to guarding her boy. 

It took Bucky a second to register Sharon, but when he was fully aware of her presence he stood up, rather wobbly at first, but he was able to brace himself on Atlas. She stood like a wall at his side, not moving until Bucky started to walk out of the parkade.

The next two days of handling went better. Bucky didn't have any major panic attacks or flashbacks, mostly because Atlas was able to get to him before the memories did. 

Sharon came over during the day after the first night went according to plan, not feeling she needed to impose more on Bucky. He would have been okay with Sharon staying over, but he appreciated not feeling like he had to change his behaviour because he had a guest. His morning schedule was the same every day: wakeup, moisturize his arm and check for scabs or signs of a rash, put on his shrinker and arm prosthesis, get dressed, eat, take his meds, and then either workout or go for a run. 

Now that he had Atlas it changed a little. Instead of waking up from his alarm clock, which he often ignored, Atlas would lick him of press her cold, wet nose on his face to get him up once the alarm sounded. Then he would spend around twenty minutes in bed with Atlas on his chest, helping him feel grounded, especially after a nightmare. 

Then the morning progressed as usual until it came to eating. He had to feed Atlas, but before he did, he used the meal as an incentive for training. 

Sharon had explained that even though Atlas was a fully trained psychiatric dog, she still needed to work on all of her tasks to be able to help Bucky to the best of her abilities. Sharon had explained that some handlers used their dog’s meals as rewards for training. 

So Bucky ran through her sit, stay, heel tasks and her on and off-leash etiquette before giving her breakfast. Atlas’s tail wagged back and forth as she ate. Bucky ate as well after some granola with possibly expired yogurt; the best before dates always lied and it smelled fine. he finished off the yogurt, promising himself he’d go to the grocery store or order in his groceries tomorrow.

Another alarm on his phone went off and Atlas gave him hell for ignoring it for ten minutes. She butted her nose into his calf half a dozen times before Bucky sighed and trudged into the bathroom to take his meds. he thought he’d be more invested in taking medication that helped him, but it was a pain in the ass. Atlas always had a bottle of diazepam in her halter. He’d only taken one of those once when he first got back from the army and he never wanted to recreate that experience again, the things were basically tranquillizers. They were reserved for an emergency where he couldn't calm himself down or he was at risk to himself or others. His doctor had been adamant that he didn't use them often and Bucky had no problem with that.

Once meds were done Bucky took Atlas for a run and then to go to the dog park on by the coffee place he and Rebecca liked to visit on Thursdays after Rebecca got out of school. 

Atlas was a champ at getting into her harness, she knew the routine like clockwork and easily let Bucky slide it on. It had two service dogs patches on each side with a big ** DO NOT PET** patch on the part that went over her back. 

“Lookin’ good, Atlas,” he chuckled as he slipped on his running shoes. He’d purchased a special pair of shoelaces that acted like bungee cords. there was a locking mechanism too so he didn't have to tie them so much as tighten them, which he could do with one human and one prosthetic hand.

Their run went smoothly, Atlas running at a perfect pace beside him as they ran through the less crowded areas of town and through a park that somehow still had trees. Even outside the big city, there were few densely forested areas anymore. Bucky was thankful hydra had decided his arm would be a better game of operation than his legs, he didn't know how he’d get by without feeling he feet pounding down on the pavement.

He cringed after he finished the thought; he’d heard people whispering about how they could never fathom about losing an arm or how they would be able to function without one of their limbs. Bucky didn't find it the worst thing ever. He definitely preferred it over the constant pain of his fucked-up arm muscles before. He was a tough guy, he’d lived in the military for eight years for fucks sakes, he could live without legs if he had too.

The constant back and forth between his brain and himself was making him irritated so he ran faster, his shoes slapping the pavement with each step. Atlas geared up without effort, her tongue lolling out of her mouth slightly as she panted.

They arrived at the dog park five minutes earlier than usual. 

Sharon had told him before their three days of had ended that Atlas was trained to know that her harness meant working and when her harness was off she was allowed to run around and play. 

“She’ll come running back as soon as you call and she’ll always be watching, but she’s grown up knowing it’s okay to engage with other dogs or people, to some extent, when she's not wearing the harness.” Sharon had explained. 

Basically, she was off duty when the harness came off. Any time they were just chilling in Bucky’s apartment or when he took her to the lake, Atlas wasn't wearing her harness. The dog park was no exception. She was still a service dog, it said so on her collar, but she was a slightly more relaxed service dog. 

As soon as her harness was off and Bucky gave her the green light, Atlas tore off into the field, running around other dogs and their owners. A few dogs tried to catch up with her but she was too fast, leaving them in the dust as she flew by. 

As much as Atlas loved to work, and she did love to work, her favourite part of the day was the dog park, immediately followed by morning runs. 

Out of nowhere, a streak of red and brown erupted from the other side of the park. Bucky almost panicked because the new dog was making a beeline for Atlas, but instead of lunging or snapping at her the other dog gleefully ran around with the german shepherd. 

After twenty minutes of running Atlas lay down on the ground, a huge panty smile on her face. the other dog was still tearing around, but also lay down when it saw that Atlas needed a break.

“Your dog almost gave Red a run for his money,” said a man approaching both Bucky had his dog. The guy had dark brown skin that made his stark white teeth pop as he grinned. “But, Red’s not one to get tired out. Think your dog can hold up for a bit more?” It was a friendly jab, not rude or mean, just playful teasing. There was something about the guy that made Bucky feel less on edge. It was possibly that he didn't try to get up in his business or even mention the fact he had a black plastic arm.

“She can dish it out, don't worry,” he replied with a crooked smile, not a smirk per se, but it was smug.

“You’re on, buddy.” The man whistled and his dog, red, leapt up and started to run laps around the two men and Atlas. 

Atlas, however, stayed trained on Bucky as the man stepped closer, possibly waiting for the block command, where she would strategically place herself in a way that kept the guy from moving closer. But when Bucky told her to go play, she got to her feet and bounded after the other dog. 

“Well behaved dog, you got there.” commented red’s owner, his eyes trailing the two dogs as they ran each other ragged. 

“Yep.” was all Bucky said, also watching the dogs. There was no need to talk about why she was so well trained.

After a moment the guy turned to Bucky. “I’m Sam Wilson by the way, should’ve introduced myself sooner.”

“Oh, uh.” Bucky fumbled for a moment. “It's fine. Bucky Barnes.” he stuck his arm to shake the guy's hand. He could shake someone’s hand now, that was an improvement from a few months ago.

“Bucky?” Sam scoffed, “what? Did your mama have it out for you that bad?”

Bucky laughed at that. “No, she just really liked old American presidents.” Sam looked confused until Bucky continued.“James Buchanan Barnes, but Bucky works just fine.”

Only his mother and Rebecca that called him Bucky. James sounded too formal and he refused to make anyone call him sergeant after he got back. Bucky was a good middle ground. 

"Bucky," Sam said, trying out the name. "Solid name, man." 

Bucky wasn't sure what to say to that so he just nodded and went back to watching Atlas and Red. 

Eventually, Atlas got bored for running circles around Red and instead was very content fetching a stick from Bucky. 

"What type of dog is he?" Bucky asked Sam, grunting as he threw another stick for Atlas. 

"He's an Australian shepherd, red merle," Sam answered, clipping red back into his leash. 

"Ah, nice dog." 

Sam grinned. "of course, wouldn't settle for less." 

Bucky checked his watch and realized he'd had to leave five minutes ago to walk to his therapy session. 

"Looks like we're running to go see Pepper, girl." He said to Atlas as he strapped her into her harness. The german shepherd painted happily in response. 

Sam didn't say anything about the **DO NOT TOUCH** patch on Atlas’s harness. 

Sam waved as he started to walk off. “Hopefully we’ll see you again.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said loudly over his shoulder as he started to jog towards Pepper’s building.

His session with Pepper went well, but he was exhausted by the time he got back to his apartment. 

Atlas shook herself off after he removed the harness. They curled up together on his couch surfing through Netflix. It had come out the year he went off to the military and he’d preferred to chat to his mom instead of watching tv.

Now he had nine years worth of media to catch up on. He’d seen some stuff when he came home for the holidays, or on the occasion, summer when he’d just been going to school. But the past few years up until last year he’d missed out on. He Was slowly working his way through the best movies of each year. He was on 2015 now.

“_Inside Out_ or _The Martian_, Atlas?” he asked, not entire sure he’d be able to make it through one of the new _Star Wars_ movies, even if the sound effects for the guns were different than the ones he was used to. He had to “set himself up for success” as Pepper had said earlier, give himself a fair shot at not having flashbacks. 

“Not to say you should avoid things, but take it slowly. Don't force yourself to go into the freezer aisle or watch war movies,” Pepper had said. 

They settled on _The Martian_.

Bucky fell asleep halfway through, Atlas sprawled out on top of him, her tail lazily sweeping back and forth as she dozed.

He woke up somewhere in the middle when Atlas jumped off the couch, she'd probably gotten too hot and went to sleep on the cool floor.

Bucky squinted at the screen, trying to figure out how much he'd missed. He gave up and turned off the tv.

He hauled himself off the couch, waking Atlas. She padded along beside him to his room. He showered quickly before changing into some loose boxers and flopping down next to Atlas, dead to the world a few minutes later.

He woke up a few times when Atlas interrupted his sleep. One of her tasks, specifically for PTSD, was to disrupt his sleep so he didn't fall into nightmares. Eventually, it was three am and Bucky wasn’t getting any more sleep. 

“Walk?” 

Atlas just licked his face, obviously sensing his unease. 

“I'm fine, Atlas. Really.” But, of course, Atlas was a dog and didn't understand. All she knew was that she needed to respond to the signs she was seeing. Bucky allowed her to snuggle with him for a few minutes before she finally let up. He did feel marginally better; it was hard to slip into the trenches when his dog was licking his face.

Atlas wiggled her haunches to get herself pressed up as close as she could to Bucky's side, letting him run his fingers through her coat, his strokes slowing until he stopped, haven fallen asleep again. 

He made sure to bring her ball to the park the next morning. He’d read that german shepherds enjoyed both physical and mental stimuli so every time she brought the ball back he would give her a task and then, once she completed it, he would reward her by throwing the ball. He’d found this to be a good system that didn't rely on food rewards. 

Sam showed up later with Red and Atlas had a good romp around with him before silently pleading for Bucky throw the ball again. 

He and Sam went for coffee after. Bucky was a little paranoid about bringing Atlas in, maybe Sam hadn't noticed the service dog patches, or maybe he just didn't care. Bucky found later hard to believe. 

He couldn't leave Atlas outside like Sam could with red, so he sucked it up and marched after sam, Atlas’s lead held firmly in his hand.

“Sir,” came a voice from behind Bucky and he froze in his tracks, Atlas freezing along with him. “Dogs aren't allowed- oh!”

The owner of the voice was a young-looking boy, probably only in his second year of high school. He looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn't see the service dog patch. My bad,” he said sheepishly, ducking his head. 

“No, uh, it's okay. Thanks.” Bucky replied choppily, not sure how to approach his response. Instead of saying anything else Bucky sped walked over to the table Sam had snagged. With a quick “under” Atlas was calmly laying under the table, her head rested on her paws. 

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, tilting his head down in a gesture towards Atlas. 

“Yeah, all good.”

Sam got up to ordered them both drinks before coming back with a steaming hot coffee for Bucky and some sort of whipped drink for himself. 

“I come here sometimes with my sister,” Bucky said, sipping on his coffee, “she always gets hot chocolate because the barista gives her extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce.” 

“How old is she?” Sam wondered, sounding a little unconvinced.

“She’s six.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft chuckle. “Okay because I thought you were talking about a twenty-something sister. It would've been weird if I said the barista might be crushing on her.”

Bucky made a dramatic gagging sound in disgust. “yeah, just a bit.”

The conversation was easy with Sam and for the first time, Bucky considered himself having a friend, a friend who wasn't an acquaintance because of his disabilities. 

He learned that Sam was a practitioner nurse over at a clinic not far from where they were and that he had an insatiable sweet tooth. He was dating his long-term girlfriend Natasha, who was more of a cat lady so he still lived in a separate apartment with Red.

“You got a girl?” Sam asked after gushing about his redhead girlfriend. 

Bucky shook his head, “I don't usually swing that way,” he admitted. He’d been bi before he’d joined the military, but living with some extremely fit an attractive guys for years didn’t help his straight case. 

“Ah,” was all Sam had to say. The man looked like he was deep in thought and Bucky though the conversation had moved on. 

“You know, my buddy steve-”

Bucky’s groan cut him off. “Do you know how many times people have tried to set me up with their gay friends? So many times. I'm not interested if the only thing we have in common is the fact we’re both into guys.”

“He's a personal trainer.” Sam offered, “loves art and old music, had a huge golden retriever, also into guys…” Bucky could tell he was half-joking but the look in his eyes was completely serious. “I'm just saying he’s hot and that's coming from a straight guy.” Sam paused for a moment before making very deliberate eye contact with Bucky and saying, with a completely straight face, “he's got a _fabulous_ ass.”

Bucky, who had just taken a sip from his coffee, spluttered. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Sam smirked mischievously, handing Bucky a napkin as coffee dripped from his chin. The feeling of the napkin scraping against his stubble was unpleasant and Bucky reminded himself to shave when he got home.

Bucky regained a little of his composure and the conversation continued.

“I can give you his number if you want?” Sam insisted a little bit later

“No, sam. Jesus... just lay off okay?” Bucky groaned in frustration.

“Hey, I'm going to be completely serious right now okay?”

“Sure, but I am too. Just because he’s gay-”

“I'm really worried about him,” Sam said, cutting off Bucky’s complaining. “He lost his dog a month ago and I've never seen him so down in the dumps.”

“Oh,” was all Bucky could say. “That sucks.” he stole a glance down at Atlas, who had shifted slightly under the table so she was now situated under his chair. 

“Just humour me okay? You don't have to sleep with him or anything like that, I just think you guys would be good friends.” 

“Do you set everyone you meet up with your friends?” Bucky tried to say sarcastically but it fell flat.

“Only the ones I like,” Sam said with a wink, lightening the mood immediately. 

Bucky passed over his phone to let Sam put in his and steve’s number. “Could you tell him so he doesn’t think I'm some creepy stalker?”

Sam smiled when buck confirmed he would text steve. “Of course.”

They went to pay for their coffee but the guy behind the counter was the same one that Bucky ran into earlier and he insisted his drink was on the house. 

“Peter! You can't keep giving people drinks on the house!” came a call from the back room.

“I'll pay for it Shuri, I made a mistake.” the boy named Peter called back, a deep blush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks.

“Goddamn it Peter, I just got you this job."

Bucky insisted it was fine and he ended up tipping generously when the kid insisted he get a discount, making up for the money he would have spent. 

"Nice kid," Sam commented as he untied Red from his spot outside. 

"Yeah, he had good intentions but I feel like I’m getting special treatment because I don't have an arm or because I have a service dog. It doesn't make me feel great. I wish people just treated me the same." Bucky confessed, taking a final swig of his coffee before throwing the cup in the trash. “He did make a fucking great cappuccino though,”

“That's valid,” Sam said. Bucky knew he wasn't just talking about the good coffee.

Bucky felt a tiny bit of the crushing weight on his shoulders lift. It wasn't much, but the two small words that Sam had just said make Bucky feel lighter.

They parted ways as friends, not just acquaintances.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STEVE FUCKIN' ROGERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know this was all done on my phone with really crappy spell check. I'll go over it on a computer sometime soon but for now, I just want to update lol sorry for my terrible dyslexia, punctuation, and grammar.

A few weeks after Bucky's coffee outing with Sam his phone buzzed. At first, he ignored it in favour of getting a few more situps in during his post-run workout, thinking it was another email from the stupid forum website he'd signed up for. Six more situps later his phone buzzed again. 

Bucky reached for the device before shaking his head. _ it's probably just Sam. You can text him later after you finish,_ he though, moving on from his sit-ups to push-ups. 

Push-ups were hard when one of your arms wasn't very strong. While his prosthesis could hold the weight of a heavy shopping bag it couldn't hold Bucky's weight without the hand getting crushed or the arm folding on itself. 

He'd figured out that detaching his hand from the arm, then using something to brace his upper arm worked wonders. This allowed him to get in a few reps without worrying about his arm being a crippled mess. 

After his cool-down stretching, Bucky finally checked his phone. Instead of Sam's icon flashing on his screen is just read _unknown number_.

Bucky set down his phone in favour of twisting his hand back on to make typing in his password easier. 

With his phone held in the hand prosthetic, Bucky tapped in his password and opened his messaging app. 

Bucky didn't text people very often. He had Pepper’s number saved solely for emergencies and his mother never answered her texts anyway. Sam was the only person whom he'd had an actual text conversant with. Bucky wasn't much of a conversationalist himself, so everything was short and to the point. 

The new number, however, wasn't spam or something similar.

Unknown: _hello! my friend Sam gave me your number a few days ago. Sorry, he's very persistent that I make friends_

Unknown: _I'm Steve btw, I was told you might know who I am? _

Great. He'd avoided texting Steve because of the sheer stupidity of the whole thing. Bucky wasn't responsible for making Steve feel better to let alone trying to be friends with him.

Bucky had a few options: ignore him, tell him it was a wrong number, or tell Steve he wasn't interested in becoming his new boyfriend or booty call.

He'd deleted Steve's number from his phone already, so he didn't feel guilty about just deleting Steve again, but he knew Sam would inevitably ask about how things were with Steve. Bucky didn't want to go down that rabbit hole. 

He opted for the third choice.

Bucky typed out his text a few times before realizing he didn't have to it the guy with a full paragraph about how reluctant he was to become anything more than acquaintances. Instead he typed out a simple _ yeah, Sam mentioned you in a few times _

He hit send.

He pushed himself off the floor and heavily sat down at one of the rickety stools in the kitchen. Technically the living room and kitchen were in the same room, just on opposite walls of his tiny apartment. His guest room could also be added to the mix if he decided to pull out the couch-bed he’d snagged off Krrb. 

His apartment only has three rooms, the kitchen-living-guest room, his bedroom, and the small bathroom attached in between. It was a small complex and he shared the building with ten other tenants, give or take. As far as he knew it was the best place he could be. 

Atlas had parked herself by the couch for the past hour, working away on one of the rope toys Bucky had bought her. 

His phone vibrated again, dragging his attention away from his dog. 

Unknown: _oh okay. Sam said we had some stuff in common so I'm assuming you know a bit about me?_

Bucky was close to deleting Steve again until his phone vibrated, distracting him from the block user button.

Unknown:_ sorry I'm not very good at this, I think I'm not as awkward in person but I've been told otherwise_

Bucky powered off his phone and left it sitting on the top of the kitchen island. 

What was sam’s deal trying to set him up with a random guy in Brooklyn. 

“Ha! I don't even know if he’s from here.” he said to himself, or perhaps to Atlas, who had perked up her ears when his stool had scraped against the floor. 

“Up to go swimming, girl?” he asked atlas. The german shepherd bounded to her feet as soon as he pulled out her harness, tail wagging eagerly. 

“I'll take that as a yes.” Bucky said as he buckled atlas into her harness. He’d purchased better patches that now read _ not all disabilities are visible_ and one that read _ please don't pet me, I'm working_. Rebecca had helped pick them out a week previous. She’d had a hard time remembering that the no petting rule also applied to her. She immediately loved atlas and was overjoyed when both Bucky and atlas picked her up from school on Thursdays. 

The walk to the dog park was shorter when they weren't running, mostly because they could just go straight to the dog park instead of around it.

It was cooler now that it was October and Bucky was lucky he’d thrown on a pullover before he left his apartment. 

When he was just missing an arm Bucky got stares, now that he had a service dog he got at least twice as many. It was usually not a big deal when they went out for walks or runs but as soon as he entered any building, including his complex, he felt people’s gaze burning into his back. 

He hoped that people would pay attention to the new patches that decorated atlas’s harness, but if the ** DO NOT PET** didn't work, he wasn’t sure how else to convey that she was working. 

So far, in his short month with atlas, he’d had multiple people try and distract, entice, or even go as far as to try and pet her when he was out and about. He understood if it was a kid, Hell, even Rebecca had a hard time with the no touching, but grown adults were the worst. 

The slight chill did not affect Atlas, who happily swam to retrieve sticks for an hour. After letting her run around to try and warm up again, Bucky treated himself to a coffee. 

This time, instead of peter, he recognized MJ behind the counter. She looked up at Bucky then down at atlas.

“Sir, your dog can't come in here.” she said stiffly, coming out from behind the counter.

Bucky shrank in on himself, torn between getting his caffeine fix but also not wanting to make a scene. 

“He’s wet,” MJ continued, still somewhat coldly. “If you wait at one of the tables outside I can come get your order.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course… sorry.” Bucky stammered before exiting the coffee shop. It was a reasonable request and Bucky didn't mind sitting outside; there were fewer people to stare at him.

A couple minutes later MJ, the girl from behind the counter, came out to grab his order. 

He dug around in his pockets after she went back inside, trying to find his phone. 

“Shit.” he cursed when he realized he’d left it back at his apartment. He cursed again realizing that he’d abandoned Steve by powering it off as well.

_ you could have at least let him down gently, _ Bucky scolded himself. _ no need to be a dick about it _

Bucky was so lost in his inner monologue he didn't notice a man standing awkwardly by his table. 

“Sorry, but the barista inside asked me if I could give this to you,” the man said, placing Bucky’s coffee on the table in front of him. “She’s pretty busy in there, said you were the one with the dog.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, yeah that's me.” Bucky said, tripping over his words as he took in how stunning the man in front of him was. He never had crushes on people, but he could acknowledge when someone was attractive.

“No problem!” the man explained with a bright smile. He turned, as if ready to walk away before Bucky recognized him.

“Wait,” Bucky said quickly before the guy could disappear. “You're that guy with the golden retriever. Peggy, right?”

He was; there was no mistaking the fluffy blond hair and soft blue eyes.

“You were with the little girl a few months ago at the park.” the man said as recognition flashed across his features. “She asked Peggy if she could pet her.”

Bucky chuckled fondly, “yeah, that's my sister.”

“Sister? I thought she was your niece or something.” the guy said as he started to sit down at the small table. Bucky winced when the chair scraped against the cement, his heart leaping into his throat.

Atlas was on him in a second, pawing at his leg, licking his arm, trying to tether him back to reality.

“Yeah, sister. She's my sister.” Bucky mumbled, feeling like he was in two places at once, or there were two of him. One was at the coffee place with blondie and Atlas, the other was in a deep dark place in Russia.

“Mind if I sit?” the blond guy asked, arching his brow in question.

“I,” Bucky looked around, confused. “I need to get going.” 

Bucky stumbled to his feet, atlas’s leach clenched tightly in his hand. He slapped a bill down of the table before a second later he was in his apartment.

“No… no, not again.” he moaned, rolling over on the cold surface of the floor. Kitchen. he was in the kitchen. The cold stone tiles were refreshing for a moment as he pressed his cheek to the floor. After a second it was too cold for comfort; memories flashed in the back of his mind, too fast to see but enough to feel the dread and cold seep into his bones.

Something was lying on his abdomen, a warm pressure holding him down. He managed to push himself up to see the massive german shepherd that was lying on him. 

Hydra never had dogs. They only had people. Cold, deadly people. 

The dog was warm. 

Too tired to hold himself up, Bucky flopped back down to the floor, his head banging against the stone flooring. 

Instantly the weight on his abdomen lifted and the dog- Atlas, he remembered -was pushing her head underneath his, making sure he wasn't hurting himself.

He patted his chest, not trusting his voice to carry out the command.

Atlas gently sloped her head out from beneath his so she could rest her upper body on his. His hand found its way into her fur as he focused on feeling the individual hairs bush against his palm. 

He was lying on the kitchen floor and he didn't remember how he'd gotten there. He'd been having coffee and then he was on the floor. 

Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Atlas stood beside him, pressing herself against him to both steady and ground him. 

He went to stand up but his left arm groaned under the weight. 

_Right, not left arm_

He hadn't forgotten that for months. 

Dissociation was no joke, and the temporary amnesia wasn't either. He debated taking the diazepam. he wasn't having a severe mental meltdown, so he was probably just better off going to bed, he reasoned.

Atlas provided an almost constant pressure as he lurched to his feet. He had to remind her of her nudge task a few times whenever she stopped pressing her nose into his thigh.

_God, would just one week without a flashback or anxiety attack be okay?_ he thought, sighing as he fell into bed. _ Not even a week, maybe… two days..._

Atlas plopped down beside him, her head resting on his stomach. 

"Good girl," he praised sleepily as his fumbling fingers ran through her fur. 

_I should probably call Pepper,_ he thought absently, ceasing to pet Atlas in favour of digging around in his pockets. 

He didn't find it. 

"Shit. Did I lose it between coffee and here?" He groaned in frustration. The phone was years out of date, but he didn't want to have to go get a new one. 

"Stay" he mumbled to Atlas, who only looked at him with worried eyes from her position on the bed as got up to search for his phone.

He eventually spotted it on the kitchen island. Right. He'd left it there that morning, he recalled, snatching the phone up and powering it on as he stumbled back to his bedroom. 

He sat on the edge of the mattress as the phone came back to life, screen lighting up like a switchboard. 

He'd received three more texts from  
unknown number, aka Steve. 

"Great." Bucky sighed, choosing to ignore Steve in favour of looking up what to do after a dissociative spell. 

He finds a few things about grounding, but Atlas is doing a good job of keeping him present, he just needed something to keep him in his own body. 

He found something called T.I.P. It stood for temperature, intense actively, and progressive relaxation. 

First step: temperature. He needed to find something that made him feel warm; he couldn't handle anything cold for fear of plunging himself into a flashback. 

A hot shower would make him feel warm. He figured. 

Atlas waited patiently as he showered. The water was a bit too hot, but it worked. 

Second step: intense activity. 

Bucky absolutely did not feel like going for a run, so he first attempted jumping jacks. his dog tags clanged together and made him want to grind his teeth into dust. Instead, he focused on wall squats, trying to hold himself in the same agonizing position for as long as he could. He made it three minutes before his legs started to feel like jelly. 

Lastly, was progressive relaxation. He went through his cool-down stretches he did after his workouts, trying to focus on feeling all of his limbs slowly start to work as a whole again. 

He returned to his bed, Atlas obediently trotting after him. She was still wearing her harness. 

Cursing softly at his stupidity, Bucky gently unclipped Atlas from her work gear, finally letting her relax slightly. 

He crawled back into bed and fell asleep the instant his head hit the pillow. 

Bucky woke up to the flashing display from his phone. At first, he'd scrambled away from the device, his brain automatically thinking about the exploding IED that took out Dougan. 

He blinked a few times and only when Atlas had settled in his lap did he realize he wasn't in Russia but his bed. 

"Shit." He groaned, dragging his hand down his face before picking up the phone, the caller ID read _Mom_

With fumbling fingers he managed to answer the call. 

"Bucky, honey, Are you okay?" Was the first thing his mother said after he'd mumbled hello in a gravelly voice, still slick with sleep. 

"What? Yeah mom, I'm fine." He said, although it likely sounded unconvincing. 

"You never came for dinner and you didn't answer your phone…" 

Bucky shot straight up out of bed, "dinner?" He asked, blatantly confused, "what dinner? We were supposed to have dinner tonight?" 

"Yes, Andrew picked up Chinese but you didn't come and we were all very worried. I've been calling for the past hour." His mother explained, sounding less anxious than at the beginning of the conversation. 

"Aw shit mom, sorry. I forgot. What time is it anyway?" He asked, pulling the phone away from his ear to check. 

"Only eleven PM," he heard as he brought the phone back to his ear. "but Bucky, we were very worried about you. With everything online about PTSD and depression we though… well…" his mother trailed off but her unsaid world's hung heavily over the line. 

It was true, the rate of suicides in vets had risen over ten percent in the past decade and that was only with documented cases. Bucky had done a lot of reading after he'd got back. He didn't like to think much about the statistics he could have been apart of not too long ago.

"I'm safe mom, I promise Atlas is taking good care of me." He said, giving Atlas a good scratch between the ears. "She's helping me so much mom, please don't worry, I'm doing better." He tried to sound reassuring but his mother was always one to worry. 

"I know buck," she sighed. She sounded so tired and wrung out it hurt Bucky. "I just worry about you."

"I know mom. I fell asleep and completely forgot. Sorry to make you so worried," he apologized, internally cursing at himself when he realized he'd fallen asleep with his prosthesis still attached. 

"Oh darling, it's okay. You'll just have to come over next week." He could tell she was trying so hard to sound cheerful. 

"I will, I promise. I'll set an alarm and Atlas won't let me forget." 

"See to it, young man. your sister's dying to show you how the fish are doing." His mother's voice draped down to a whisper. "Andrew was furious when she brought them home, but he's starting to warm up to them, he says they're so relaxing to watch. Don't tell him I told you." She laughed as she finished. "well, hopefully, you can get back to sleep. "

"I'll be fine, mom. Thanks for calling." 

"Anytime, love." 

The phone beeped and the line went dead. 

Dropping the phone onto the bed, Bucky undid all the straps that kept his arm attached. He peeled off his shrinker, his skin stinging when the silicone detached from his skin.

"Shit," he cursed when he saw patches of irritation on his upper arm. That meant not arm until it had cleared up, a day or two at least.

He rubbed some cream in into his scarred skin and hoped it would get better soon. He hated being in public without his arm. 

The three more texts from Steve didn't make him feel any better. He changed the unknown number to Steve in his contacts to ease a bit of the guilt he felt for ignoring the guy. 

Steve: _sorry, Sam can be a little persistent about things. I think he might have been pushing the fact that I'm single _

Steve: _he keeps trying to set me up with people, so I hope you weren't expecting to hook up or anything like that_

Steve: _I'm going through some family stuff so I'm not really in the right place to have a romantic relationship. Sorry if you were expecting something out of this_

Bucky read through the texts. They were all sent that morning, around when he'd left for the park. 

He typed back a reply as if that made him seem like less of an asshole.

Bucky: _no problem, I wasn't expecting anything out of this tbh_

He hit send and then a moment later realized he should apologize for ignoring Steve for so long. 

Bucky:_ also, sorry for not answering your texts, I'm not very good at this whole texting thing_

Of course, Steve didn't reply. Bucky wasn't sure why he felt a little bit of him cave in on himself when there wasn’t an answer. 

_ you fucking left him on read for six hours, of course the guy’s not going to respond! _ Bucky internally yelled at himself. _ why would he anyway? Obviously you’re no good for anyone._

Pepper’s buzzer noise when off in the back of his mind. 

“Shut up,” he growled at himself. 

Coffee. He really needed some fucking coffee.

His tiny apartment kitchen wasn’t very well stocked. He had instant coffee, which was disgusting but had caffeine in it, but he also had a brewing machine. Nothing fancy; just a drop filter, but it made a solid cut of coffee. It was around eleven-thirty, but he probably wasn't going to get any more sleep so he figured what the hell.

Atlas must have deemed him stable enough to make coffee by himself because she stayed on the bed, still attentive without being on red alert. 

The problem with the drip coffee is it took a full thirteen minutes to make a full pot. So, to keep him distracted he turned on the tv. He still had most of _ The Martian_ to watch, but he didn't really feel like watching something serious. All he knew was that the movie was about some people who went to space and then growing potatoes; not a particularly serious movie, but still. He just wasn't in the mood. Instead, queued up _ Inside Out_. It was a Disney movie about the emotions of a little girl, how far from torture and war could he get?

The movie played in the background as Bucky made his coffee. his milk was running low so he decided for black coffee. He wasn't one for sugar either but all he’d eaten that day was breakfast and he wasn't sure if he’d eaten lunch, so he added a spoonful to try and get his blood sugar back up. he also snatched an apple from the basket beside the fridge. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he had to eat something. 

Atlas came to join him a few minutes into the movie, laying down on the floor in front of the couch. 

Bucky sipped on is coffee, half watching the movie and half paying attention to alas. Her ears perked up whenever there was a sudden sound from the tv. Her, almost cartoonishly, big and pointy ears pointed straight up whenever the tenants above him thumbed around above them. Bucky jumped when it sounded like something left on the floor, a loud thump and then muffled cursing from the floor above. 

Atlas only stood and came to lie at his feet, her warm weight comforting and she rested on his lower legs. 

“Goog girl,” he said softly before he took another sip of his coffee. 

They sat there for half an hour, atlas asleep and Bucky on his way there. The vibration of his phone in his pocket made him blink away the drowsiness.

Steve:_No worries!_

Steve: _God, it so late. Can’t sleep? _

Bucky stared down at his phone. He was terrible at small talk. His fingers tapped out a few different, and untrue, reasons for being awake. He ditched the whole reasoning thing for a simple _yeah, something like that._

Almost instantly a reply from Steve popped up on his screen.

Steve: _ that sucks, im sorry :( _

Steve: _ I feel your pain though, I just can't seem to settle down _

Bucky did not plan on talking to Steve well into the morning. They mostly chatted about good places to run in Brooklyn after Steve complained about getting up early for a run that morning because it was two am.

Bucky: _I usually just run from my apartment to the dog park at prospect._

The icon that meant Steve was typing popped up instantly.

Steve: _ I was just there yesterday! There's a great coffee shop across the street from the main entrance. I used to take my dog there all the time._

Bucky felt the warm feeling in his chest sink. Right, Sam had mentioned that Steve’s dog had passed away.

Bucky:_ Sam told me about your dog, I'm really sorry man. _

The typing icon popped up and disappeared a few times before Steve finally sent a message.

Steve: _ yeah. I should really get going to bed, it's pretty late_

The dismissive tone was very clear, even though text. 

Bucky: _sorry, yeah. Maybe I'll see you around?_

Bucky didn't know why he had changed his tune. At first, he'd been so reluctant to even talk to Steve. Now, after having an entire conversation that didn't revolve around his mental health, service dog, or sexual preference, he was starting to warm up to the guy. 

Steve: _yeah, maybe._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve finally figure it out. lots of 1940s music and Thai food (oh, and dog cuddles)

Bucky’s dreams were usually plagued by heavy boots on wet cement floors and the burn of cold metal seeping into his body. Sometimes he was watching bullets go through each of his comrades' heads, sometimes it was his family and friends; Sam had joined the list.

Other days they were a mess of hydra and his current life; a red ball bouncing across the concrete as a steady drone of Russian assaulted his unconsciousness. Sometimes it was Russian doctors cutting off his arm, always injecting icy blue liquid into his veins as he bled out on a table deep beneath Russia

Atlas usually woke him, but only when he thrashed around or started to moan in his sleep, having been trained for those visual and auditory queues. But usually meant there was a rare occasion where her keen senses didn’t pick up on his distress.

He woke with a start, gasping for breath and he searched for his arm. His rough palm making contact with the scarred skin of his residual limb. 

“No, no they took it,” he moaned, still half asleep and trapped in the nightmare, “they took it...”

Alas was trying to comfort him but Bucky only folded in on himself, shoulders shaking as he tried not to let all the emotions flow over him. He was trapped underwater, forced to watch the crashing waves on the surface above him.

It took an hour but eventually, Atlas was able to coax Bucky out of bed at five-thirty. 

He made coffee, boiling water and pouring the instant coffee mix into the largest mug he could find. He felt nauseated at the idea of eating, his stomach still churning from the dream. 

The coffee came back up, along with dinner from the night before, twenty minutes later. 

Bucky spat into the kitchen sink, rinsing down the liquidy vomit. He heaved again as he watched it swirl down the sink.

Not wanting to spend more time stuck in his apartment, he decided to take Atlas for a walk. He didn't particularly want to be around people, but the small apartment seemed haunted; the muffled voices filtering through the walls made his skin crawl. Fresh air would help his raging headache.

He didn't bother with his prosthetic. people were already going to stare at Atlas so what did it matter?

Prospect had quickly become Atlas and Bucky’s go-to dog park. The walk to the park was usually pleasant and the off-leash section of the park was huge, giving Bucky enough room to get away from people and Atlas enough space to tear around.

The park was quiet and Atlas happily fetched her ball as a reward for training. There were birds in the trees hidden behind orange and yellow leaves who chirked. Only a few people were actually in the park, mainly people who worked at the zoo. A girl, probably around twenty, asked if she could pet Atlas. Bucky nodded, not keen to have any lasting conversation. 

They were once again unbothered. Bucky still wasn't feeling like himself. The nauseated feeling in his stomach was still there, but not persistent. 

He’d messaged Pepper, asking if they could do their season over text, or at the very least, over skype. He didn't feel like talking. He could manage typing, he usually preferred writing out his thoughts rather than voicing them on a regular day.

A ding sound alerted him to Pepper’s text, giving the green light on text therapy. 

His inner dialogue now drowned out the chirping birds and the rustle of leaves. He hadn’t been hit that hard by a nightmare in months, not to the extent of nonverbal since he’d gotten Atlas. The voice inside his head now was constantly jabbing at him, pointing out every weakness. 

He was walking with Atlas on a trail parallel to the main path. They were heading to the coffee place because Bucky could feel the withdrawal headache kicking in as they walked. The twenty minutes of coffee in his stomach didn't curb his addiction.

Bucky was pretty sure he made up at least twenty percent of Wakanda Coffee and bistro’s income, so really, he was forced to buy coffee there at least once a week. It was his duty as a Brooklyn citizen to keep the local business open.

One large, almost unbearably bitter, triple shot of espresso coffee was now safely gripped in Bucky’s hand after waiting for. Atlas’s lead was clipped onto Bucky’s belt, firmly securing her to his person. He now regretted not wearing his arm; there was a strange emptiness to his side where the hunk of mechanics usually attached to what was left of his arm. 

The park was starting to fill up with people and Bucky could feel their eyes all staring at the gaping space where his arm should be, but wasn't. Already a few people had tried to distract Atlas.

“How cruel do you have to be to bring a dog to a park if you can't run around” muttered a woman under her breath as she passed the duo, purposely loud enough for Bucky to hear. 

A man tried to whistle at Atlas to gain her attention. She didn't respond, too focused on Bucky’s rising anxiety to pay any mind to the man catcalling her. 

“Such a pretty dog,” he cooed from his bench. He stank of weed and Bucky skirted around him intent on not letting Atlas near him. “Yo man,” he hollered tipsily, “can I pet your dog? She's'nice.”

Bucky turned his head so he couldn't look at the man, picking up the pace to avoid the gaze he attracted. 

The sudden crush of gravel made him look up. The stench of the drug filled Bucky’s senses and with a sudden jolt, he realized the man was following him.

“Please? she looks s’cute.”

“No,” Bucky choked out, desperately trying to get out of the have of smoke that surrounded him, “no she's working. Please-” he started to plead as the man stumbled closer, his shoulder bumping into Bucky. The sudden contact had Bucky scrambling away, his coffee long forgotten until it was burning his chest, the hot liquid seeping into his shirt.

“Hey!” someone called out, the deafening crunch of gravel assaulted Bucky’s ears, everything was too loud and too much. Second-hand smoke filled his lungs and the scalding hot coffee made his skin throb. 

He was sitting on gravel and Atlas was pawing at him, whining. There were other voices, but the smoke had also filled Bucky’s mind, making everything hazy.

he needed to breathe.

“Block.  
Atlas fucking block,” he gasped, head lowered as anxiety made reality spin.

“Are you okay?” said a very loud voice, dragging Bucky fully back into a conscious state. The overpowering scent of pot was drifting away and Bucky rejoiced when his lungs filled with oxygen instead of smoke. He blinked, refocusing his vison as the spinning slowed. His eyes opened wide when he saw that blondie from the day before was crouched beside him. 

“Yeah, shit-” Bucky groaned as his headache reared its ugly head as soon as he spoke.

Atlas stood in between the blond man with soft blue eyes, keeping a firm wall between him and Bucky. 

“You sure? you look really pale.” the man’s eyes travelled down to where the coffee-soaked and irritatingly itchy fabric of Bucky’s shirt clung to his chest. 

Bucky hauled himself to his feet, using Atlas as a brace when he overcompensated for his missing limb. 

“That guy was way out of line, I'm so sorry that happened to you.” blue eyes apologize, “anything I can do? Sorry if I'm overstepping; You looked like you needed a hand.” the man's eyes widened in realization. “Oh god, shit.” blue eyes cursed. “I'm so so sorry.”

Despite feeling like absolute shit, Bucky still managed a halfhearted chuckle. “No worries, it's true.” 

“God, let me at least get you a coffee or something” offered the blond man, turning red in embarrassment. 

“It's okay,” Bucky said. The universe disproved with his caffeine problem and was adamant he didn't get his fix. 

“I insist, I’ve got a great latte machine at my apartment.” Blondie reiterated before the blush deepened on his cheeks “god, that sounds so creepy, I'm usually not this awkward unless it’s over text.” he mumbled nonsensically.

The sudden and forceful realization sook Bucky bumbfound, _Steve_.

“You’re friends with Sam,” he stupidly blurted out, locking eyes with Steve. He was sure it was him. The golden retriever, the running clothes, the fit stature.

Probably-Steve’s eyes widened. “I- yeah I have a friend named Sam. Do you know him?” came Steves shocked and obtuse answer. 

Bucky nodded, his mouth closed shut, unwilling to open. Pulling out his phone Bucky opened his tests and shoved the device at Steve, displaying their tests from the night before.

“Holy shit, you're the mystery man.” Steve laughed, running a hand through his fluffy hair. “Wow, how stupid of me not to realize.”

Bucky shrugged, wanting to talk but having his jaw cemented shut by his brain didn't give him many options. 

“Want some coffee and maybe a clean shirt? My apartment's five minutes from the main entrance.” Steve offered, his eyes still blown wide from shock, 

Bucky gave a nod, trying to figure out how a coincidence like this could come into play. 

Maybe the universe just wanted him to have coffee with Steve.

He couldn't argue with fate, so he walked beside Steve to his apartment. 

If there was one thing Bucky loved about his apartment was that his room was separated from the rest of his apartment. Steve, however, had a studio apartment; one room contained his bed, minuscule kitchen, and living space. 

“Sorry, wasn't expecting company,” Steve apologize as he stacked papers that were scattered across his table. Bucky caught a glimpse of faces and building before Steve whisked the papers away, unceremoniously shoving them into a drawer. 

“Right,” Steve started, giving Bucky Bucky and Atlas a once over. “Coffee or shirt first?”

“Shirt.” Bucky managed to grid out from behind a clenched jaw. 

Steve nodded with a smile to a chest of drawers by his bed while Bucky tried to unwind. He didn't know where exists to the building were and he felt completely out of sorts and vulnerable.

“Atlas, guard,” he said, giving her a task. She silently sat behind him, scouting for anything that could startle him from behind. Knowing Atlas had his back allowed Bucky to relax his shoulders. His eyes still nervously scoured for a potential threat, but she was starting to uncoil from his tightly wound state.

Atlas alerted him as soon as Steve returned, a heathered grey shirt in his hands. 

“I could also lend you a hoodie if you want one. I hoard them like no one's business so feel free. This place can be pretty chilly in the fall.” Steve said as he handed over the shirt. 

With the coffee having cooled on the walk over, the chill had started to settle into his skin. “Only if you don't mind,” he mumbled, looking down at the shirt clutched in his hand. 

“Absolutely. Wilson always gives me shit about how many I own.” 

Bucky's brow arched in question. “Wilson?”

“Sam.” Steve clarified.

“Ah,” Bucky said softly, rubbing the worn fabric between his thumb and his pointer finger. After a moment he looked up. “Do you have a bathroom where I can…?”

Steve’s cheeks flared pink, “yeah, sorry,” he apologized as he lead Bucky over to a small bathroom that connected to the main room.

Atlas stayed outside as Bucky expertly pulled off his coffee-stained shirt and pulled on Steve’s worn shirt. There was an American flag on the front, distorted as it stretched over Bucky’s chest. The guy had a thing for tightly fitted shirts, Bucky noticed. It was like he purposely flaunted his pecs for all to see. Bucky assumed if you were a personal trainer you’d want to look great so people would hire you. 

God, his bisexual ass was toast.

Bucky cautiously opened the bathroom door, self-conscious of the fact the shirt left very little to the imagination. He didn't fill out the fabric quite like Steve, but it was still smaller than he ever wore.

He tried not to be too relieved when Steve wordlessly handed him a pullover. 

“Okay, step one done, now coffee,” Steve said with a smile, moving into his little kitchen. Bucky followed eagerly.

Unlike Bucky’s drip filter coffee machine, Steve had a full latte set up. The machine looked expensive, more than Bucky would ever be comfortable spending when he could make coffee in his cheap machine.

Bucky sat down at the table and watched Steve effortlessly glide around his kitchen. first grabbing two mugs from a cabinet, then packing the coffee into the portafilter, something Bucky had learned in his many hours at Wakanda, before turning on the machine. 

Everything in Steve’s apartment smelled like coffee, even his sweater. Steve himself probably smelled like coffee.

Busck immediately pushed the thought out of his mind, focusing on Atlas’s head resting on his leg, her ears perked as Steve worked away in his kitchen. 

His dog tags pressed uncomfortably into his freshly scalded skin. Before putting on Steve’s shirt Bucky had gotten a good look at the irritated patch of skin, pink and puffy, in the mirror. He quietly tried to pull the metal identification out from under the neckline without making a sound, but he heard the slight Klink as they ground together in his grip.

“Here you go,” Steve announced, setting Bucky's mug down on the table in front of him.

Startled, Bucky immediately withdrew his hand from the neckline of his sweater, bringing the tags with it. They clinked and rattled for Steve to blatantly see. 

“Shit.” Bucky cursed under his breath as he hurriedly tucked them away under the sweater. 

Steve blatantly chose to ignore whatever had just happened in favour of sipping his latte. 

The empty sleeve of Steve's sweatshirt swung as Bucky reached out to grab the mug, allowing the heat to seep into his fingers and he brought it to his lips. The hot liquid sent warmth spreading through his chest. He couldn't help the satisfied groan that fell from his mouth as he finally got to enjoy a cup of coffee.

“That good?” Steve laughed, then laughed a little harder at Bucky’s embarrassed blush. “I'm glad you like it.”

They finished their coffee while they talked before Steve finally asked about Atlas.

“Is she still working?” he asked, his gaze flickering down to the dog resting under his table.

“She’s always working. She might look like she’s asleep but she’ll alert me if… well, she’ll alert me.”

_ You don't have to explain yourself, James. You can choose how much you want to say, but don't feel like you need to do anything like that for a stranger or even a friend. You have a valid disability, and you are allowed to have boundaries_ Pepper’s soothing voice inside his head reminded him.

“She might look like she’s sleeping, Bucky continued, “but she’s working.”

“Oh,” Steve mumbled almost… sadly.

“Oh?” Bucky parrotted, unsure what Steve was trying to get at.

“Well, I wanted to ask if I could pet her, but she’s working and I know you're not allowed to pet service dogs. I'd be no better than that guy in the park.”

Bucky swallowed heavily at the mention of the man in the park.

“Well, when she’s not wearing the harness I have no problem with someone petting her. She loves affection.” Bucky assured Steve. “You're nothing like that guy in the park,”

“I mostly just miss Peggy. It's been weird without her.” Steve said with a tight voice. 

‘Yeah… I’ve only had Atlas for two months, but I can't imagine life without her. I'm sorry about Peggy. She was really sweet.” Bucky consoled Steve. An idea popped into his head. 

“Got any plans for the next hour?” he asked. 

Steve cocked an eyebrow in question “...why?”

“Atlas knows this trick, it helps me a lot with...stuff, but it's really great. It's called deep pressure therapy. I could get her to demonstrate it on you.”

Steve looked even more confused. 

“She lies on you like a weighted blanket,” Bucky elaborated. “It's good for her training if she does it with other people. You might want to lie or sit down though.”

Usually, Bucky would never loan out his dog, but Steve seemed like he was a few more sentences away from tears. Bucky was sure he’d panic if Steve started to cry. 

‘Oh, uh… only if that's okay.” Steve mumbled, looking a little unsure.

“Yeah, I'm sure. I wouldn't have offered otherwise.”

Steve stopped at a record player on his way over to his tiny living room section of the single room

“Harry James or Marvin Gaye?” he asked innocently, not aware Bucky had no fucking clue who those men were. 

“Uh, first one,” Bucky blindly suggested. 

Steve smiled and gave a nod, pulling out the circle of vinyl before gently setting the needle of the player down as the record spun around. 

A soft song, a little heavy on trumpet, but it was pleasant.

“I've heard that song before, 1942,” Steve said as the woman’s vocals set in. 

Sam was bang on the head with the old music. Bucky chuckled at the thought.

Steve layed on the couch, Atlas perched on top of him. Bucky observed from a plush chair a few feet away.

“God, this is… wow.” Steve said wetly, his fingers tangles in Atlas’s fur. “I miss Peggy.”

Bucky instantly started to worry that maybe this hadn't been a good idea.

_ please don't cry_, he prayed as Steve took in a shuddering breath. 

“Sorry,” Bucky said softly.

“No, no, I think I needed this,” Steve hiccuped, running his fingers shakily through Atlas’s fur. “It's different but the same, if that makes sense.:

Bucky chuckled in spite of himself, “not really,”

They stayed in relative silence besides the 1940’s music wafting through the air and the few moments of chitchat. Bucky was so relaxed he almost took a nap, exhausted from staying up late and only getting three and a half hours of sleep. 

Eventually, the record started to repeat the same songs and Steve got up to change it. 

“Okay, so if you liked that, you’ll love this,” he said, gently withdrawing a new record from its sleeve. “Frank Sinatra, also 1942.”

Bucky never said anything about liking it, but it was a change of pace from everything on the radio these days.

The slight distortion to the music reminded him of old Disney movies he watched when he was a little boy with his dad. His real dad. It was a good sort of hurt. Usually, thoughts of his father ached like a dislocated shoulder or his heavily blistered feet while trudging through Russia, but today it hurt like a light punch shared between old friends.

Steve and Bucky spent over an hour listening to old music and taking turns cuddling Atlas. Bucky thought it was a perfect way to spend time. Steve never asked about the arm, or the dog, or his field identification. Bucky never asked about the drawings or Peggy. He eventually fell asleep on Steve's sofa, the other man snoring soundly with Atlas curled up on his chest beside him. He was like Sam, easy to be around. Bucky couldn't even fall asleep at his mom's place of Andrew was there. 

Bucky woke up starving, he swore he could feel his stomach trying to digest itself. Between such a high-intensity workout routine and then vomiting up breakfast, Bucky was running on fumes. 

"Ugh," he groaned, slumping forward and almost off the couch. Steve's couch. 

He was almost alarmed that he trusted Steve so much to fall asleep in his flat. It was nice not to be on edge, but he'd only just met the guy.

"afternoon," Said a familiar voice. But not Steve's. 

Bucky groggily brushed his hair out of his face. 

"Sam? Whatcha doin' here?" He mumbled, trying to bring up his left hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes. The hand never came.

"Easy there pal." 

Steve. 

_Why… what was…_

God, he was so disoriented. 

"Captain here called me sayin' you were in the park and not lookin' so good, man," Sam explained as Bucky used his actual hand to rub at his face, the scratch of his stubble greeting his fingers. 

"I always look good," Bucky mumbled. It was something he would have said before, when he was six years into his service, his hair slicked back and face shaven. Now he was a stuffy and scraggly mess.

Steve laughed somewhere behind him, his laugh was nice. Steve was nice. 

"Yeah, whatever you say, buck." Sam chuckled, dipping the sofa when he plopped down beside Bucky. 

"Why ya here?" He asked, because he knew Sam had his own apartment. Steve only had one bed.

"Had a lunch date with Steve, but you crashed the party." 

Bucky felt his chest tighten. "Sorry," he whispered, letting his hair fall back in his face. It was long again, like when he was with hydra. 

"It's all good." Same reassured him, "a tango makes three, right cap?" he punctuated his words with a friendly pat on the back, Bucky still flinched as if he'd been slapped. 

"You're a captain?" Bucky asked Steve, not waiting for his reply before he continued. "I was a sergeant. 107th. Fucked up my arm though so no more tours for me." Bucky laughed bitterly.

_my brain was fucked up first_

"Oh, uh... no, it's just a nickname." Steve stuttered, a little taken aback. 

_well shit. great way to make it weird, Barnes_

"Oh." Bucky felt his stomach sink into his toes. 

An awkward silence filled the room. it was suffocating and Bucky was starting to panic. Would Sam think less of him? Jesus... how about Steve? Sam at least knew him a little bit better. 

Atlas jumped on him, licking his face as he started to spiral. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized on repeat, trying to hold himself together on the outside while he spiralled into a full-blown panic attack.

“Steve, can you give us a minute?” Sam asked calmly from behind the cotton that seemed to fill Bucky’s eyes, ears, and mouth, keeping him locked in his head.

Steve’s voice was harder to hear, soft vowels and hard consonants did not filter through the cotton and Bucky could only make out the worried tone, rather than Steves words. 

Bucky clung to Atlas as she settled in his lap; her breath was hot in his ear as she tried to ground him. Sam was there too. Steve had disappeared. 

“I'm sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky pleaded. he was ruining everything. 

“Can I touch you?” Sam asked. Bucky aggressively shook his head no, no, no no no-

“We're going it take some deep breaths with Atlas. in…. And out… there you go Bucky,” Sam praised as he guided Bucky though the breathing exercises, having to count when Bucky’s breath sped up. 

Eventually, the cotton stuffing his ears dissipated and Bucky could hear the cars passing on the street below and the main door creak open and Steve poked his head in. 

He made Steve leave his own apartment, Bucky realized. 

“James, don't do that to yourself,” came sam’s sharp voice, snapping Bucky out of his self deprecating thoughts. “I made him leave. You're okay.” 

“Should I go grab lunch?” Steve asked nonchalantly as if a stranger hadn’t just had a breakdown on his couch.

“Yeah, can you get that Thai food from 7th? That place is killer.” Sam requested before turning to Bucky. “You good with Thai?”

Bucky just nodded his head dumbly. 

"Cool. Jai Dee or Rice Tai kitchen?" Steve called over his shoulder as he grabbed his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket. 

"Uh… how about Jai. I know they do lunch," Sam replied casually. 

"Bucky, you got any allergies?" Steve asked, voice dropping to a soft tone.

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, cool, I’ll be back in a jiff,” Steve confirmed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Bucky and Sam watched from the cough, continuing to stare at the closed for for a full three seconds after Steve left.

“I think the 1940s is rubbing off on him,” Bucky muttered.

Sam’s face cracked into a grin and his deep laughter filled the room. When he’d regained his composure he spoke, “you've known the guy for what… a week?”

“Uh, technically only two days.” 

Sam laughed harder. “Two days? God Bucky, you know the way to a man’s heart.”

And just like that Bucky and Sam fell into the friendly barter they had shared for the past month, fast friends.

“Where’s red?” Bucky asked after Sam had reiterated the entirety of his girlfriend’s ballet performance. 

“Well, unlike Atlas, my dog doesn't get special access.” Sam griped. “He’s back at my apartment. He’s too big to fit in a bag on the subway, wiggles too much too.”

“We never go on the subway,” Bucky confessed, scratching Atlas between the ears. She gave him and panty smile, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“Yeah well, not all of us enjoy walking everywhere.” Sam teased.

“I've got great legs, you’re just jealous.” Bucky countered slyly, easing into his old personality back before he shipped out.

“Jealous!” Sam hollered, “Me, jealous? No. these are thighs of betrayal.”  
Bucky was seconds away from challenging Sam to a jog before the door swung open. 

“I brought food,” Steve declared, juggling two plastic bags in his hands and using his hips to close the door again. 

“Haleluugha,” Sam moaned as he opened up the container given to him by Steve. the delivery boy himself sighing in content as he took a bite of his pad Thai. 

“I wasn't sure what you liked,” Steve said around a mouth full of shrimp and bean sprouts, “so I hope you don't mind. Its flat noodles, egg, shrimp, and Asian broccoli.”

Bucky nodded, already shovelling the hot food into his mouth, a happy sigh escaped his lips.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, “this is so good.”

“Jesus, buck, no R rated actions in the apartment.” Sam jested, a devilish grin on his face.

“Shut up Wilson,” Bucky said, dipping his head in embarrassment.

“Hey, at least I've got a girlfriend.” Sam retorted, “that’s better than both of you two.”

“Oh, shut up sam.” Steve groaned, “not all of us need constant attention to validate ourselves.

Sam choked on his curry, “ooh, low blow Rogers.”

Bucky was happy to add Steve to his list of two friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's just one thing I want to clerify about Bucky's dog tags: I did a lot of reaserch and found that most vetrans, like.. 90 percent of them, hate their dog tags. they're soley there for if someone dies in action so their body can be identifued. from what I read I though about bucky locking that far away from himself, but in my angsty fasion I belive that bucky would want to lug around that thought even after he stopped serving as a way to keep himself acoutable for the (spoilers) death of his team. I just want to clarify that he's not uing them as a fasion stament or something like that. I think I did a pretty good job of clerifying that he fucking hates those tags. if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them :) as always, I adore feedback and any corrective critism you can throw at me. thanks again for reading <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a haircut, exciting news, and a night out with the boys

The day Bucky decided to get a proper haircut was monumental. His mother had instead of cutting off the ends every few months, but it barely made a dent in the length. His dark hair now fell well below his jawline.

“You were so proud of your hair,” his mother had cooed as she brushed out the tangles and tied his hair back into a bun for him. His prosthesis was amazing, but the strands of hair always got caught in the fingers, so it was useless at helping him put up his hair. 

Darcy had shown him a few youtube videos of amputee women who did tutorials for people with limb indifference. He’d managed to perfect ponytails, but he preferred when all his hair was tucked away in a bun or if he had to, a braid.

He’d walked into the tiny hairdresser’s place too many times, only to immediately walkout. The idea of someone he didn't know touching his scalp made his skin crawl. But he was a twenty-nine-year-old man, so he should be able to get his hair cut by someone other than his mother. 

Atlas sat at his side while he glared at the salon, fully aware he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk and inconveniencing pedestrians.

For the umpteenth time he was seconds away from walking straight back to his apartment when a woman snapped open the door and purposely strode over to him. 

“Are you gonna ever come in, or are you stalking one of my girls?” she demanded, hands on her hips and eyebrows pinched together.

Bucky took a step back, she was shorter than him, she looked ready to fight if need be. 

“ ‘cause if I find out you after one of my girls-”

“No, no I'm not-” Bucky interrupted, awkwardly spitting out his protest. “No, I- haircut.” he stuttered.

“Hmm, it’s just that I've seen you ‘round here for a few weeks, so if you're… lord, you need a cut.” her sharp tone dimmed.

“Uh… yeah, that’s why I'm, uh, here,” he mumbled, his hair falling in front of his face as if to prove a point.

“You _really_ need a haircut.” she scoffed, running her hands through her dark curly hair. “ASAP, boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.” her thick accent was as far from Russian as one could get.

She leads him into the small place, Atlas following obediently by his side. 

He was buzzing on the inside like he’d chugged red bull until his stomach protested. But he was almost glad the situation was out of his hands. He hated not having a choice but having someone else leading him meant he didn't have to think.

“Sit.” the woman instructed. 

So he did.

He flinched when she leaned him back, the nape of his neck flush with the cold porcelain of the sink.

“Another white boy, Nakia?” came an exasperated voice from a few chairs over, another dark-skinned woman stood as she massaged cream into a girl’s hair.

“Look at him, Okoye.” the lady -Nakia- gestured at Bucky, long hair pooled in the bottom of the sink. 

“Yeah, he’s a white man in a curly girl’s salon,” the other woman griped. 

oh 

_Oh_.

He’d never read the signs, it was just the first hairdresser’s place that showed up on google maps.

“Sorry, I can go. it's no problem,” he mumbled, pulling himself up out of the chair. “Sorry.”

Okoye groaned, her head falling back in frustration. “No, you're here now, I won't send you away.”

Nakia leaned him back once again, but he still flinched. He flinched when her fingers scraped against his scalp and when the hot water rinses away the shampoo as well.

She gathered his hair in a ponytail then took out a pair of scissors, shearing off as much as she could in one go. 

“Want to donate this? You got at least nine inches,” Nakia asked, holding out the bundle of hair. 

“Sure,” he mumbled, distracted by Atlas press her nose into his leg.

He didn't watch when the razor started; he could feel the vibrations in his skull. He ground his teeth as Nakia shaved the sides of his head.

_almost done, almost done, almost done,_ he repeated over and over, the soundtrack to his new look.

It was almost over.

Nakia mussed up the longer hair on top, snipping here and there. 

“Too long?” she asked, stepping back from the chair, meeting Bucky’s gaze in the mirror.

Bucky couldn’t care less, “yeah. Looks great.”

He paid, apologized, and tipped generously. 

-

He saw Pepper that afternoon. It had been a while since he’d seen her. They’d done a few text sessions and talked over the phone, but they hadn't met in person for at least a month.

“Hey, James,” she said warmly when he sat down in her office. “The hair looks good.”

“Thanks,” he said to Atlas, as he scratched her ears, not looking at Pepper. 

“We haven't had a chance to meet in a while, how are you feeling?”

“Numb.” It was a one-word answer sort of day. 

“Oh? How so?” Pepper pushed, trying to dig out the answer like a bullet stubbornly lodged in flesh.

“Dunno.”

It was true, he didn't know why he felt nothing. He did things, like go for a run, read books, listen to music, and workout, but he didn't get any satisfaction. His body burned, but he didn't push to do better, he pushed so that the burn ran deeper. 

“James, you have to tell me what's going on so we can work things out.” 

She was right, of course, she was fucking right.

“I don't know…” he swallowed thickly. “I don't know. Can we do something else, I don't know why and it makes me frustrated.”

Pepper was human as well as a therapist. She knew that sometimes limits were reached and that boundaries were set in place. “Alright. How about I do a little bit of talking?”

Bucky nodded relief pumping through his veins.

Pepper got up and sat across from Bucky, a freckled hand resting on her stomach as she sat.

“My husband and I are expecting a baby.” she announced with a smile, “4 months along now.”

Bucky smiled, but the numbness was still there. He was excited for Pepper, worried too, but excited for her.

“He thinks it's a little girl, but I think he’s a boy,” she said, stroking her bump slightly. “My husband, Tony, can't feel him moving yet, but I can.”

“That's amazing, Pepper,” Bucky gushed, feeling a spark of warmth in his chest, glowing gold compared to the monochrome of grey and black.

“It is, we’re very happy to have him,” she said, a soft smile on her face as she looked up aim from her stomach. “I was going to tell you sooner, so you’d be able to prepare to get a new therapist, or at least someone to stand in when this little guy decides to come, but it never was a good time. I'm sorry.”

“No, no Pepper it’s okay. I'm happy for you. God, Pepper that's amazing.” he breathed. A baby. Pepper was going to have a baby. The numbness was mixing into something else, and old feeling.

“I remember when my mom told me she was expecting Rebecca.” he reminisced. “I was two years into the army, we didn't get a lot of time to message family, but I always called her when I could. She’d been dating Andrew for three years when she got pregnant. I’d only met the guy. Hmm… maybe four times, but he seemed okay.” Bucky paused before he returned to the main story. “We were chatting and she told me she had a surprise for me, but unfortunately it couldn't wait until I got back from my first tour.” 

He laughed at the memory, his mother’s baby bump displayed on the crappy computer screen. “She got all melty eyed and showed me the ultrasound photos and her bump. God, she must have been six months pregnant.” 

The guys had thought he’d had a girlfriend at home when a copy of the same photos were in the mail, thinking he’d gotten her knocked up, or that she’d cheated on him. 

“My troup called me baby daddy for a month because they thought the ultrasound photos I got in the mail belonged to my girlfriend.” he chuckled. He’d never denied or confirmed the accusations until someone accused him of cheating in retaliation when he and a guy from the 106th had gotten it on. 

“I was twenty one and my mom was going to have a baby in three months. everyone found it weird. I didn't, but she was almost in her forties with a baby on the way.”

Pepper listened patiently, smiling when appropriate. 

Bucky’s own smile faltered, remembering the other half of the story. “I was deployed two months before Rebecca was born. I didn't even get to see her over skype until she was six months old.”

Pepper sympathized with him, and they changed to the topic to better stories about baby Rebecca.

He met Steve and Sam for dinner after his appointment.

“I'm digging the new look, man.” Sam grinned, having him a hearty pat on the back. The contact still made Bucky flinch, but it was out of habit. He was glad Sam didn't hold back, glad he didn't think Bucky would shatter like glass at contact.

“You look good, Buck.” Steve complimented him as he sat down at the booth.

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled, dipping his head to hide the flush of embarrassment. 

“Seriously, it suits you.” Steve insisted, scooting over to sit beside him. 

“Lay off the guy, Cap. he doesn't need your preening.” Sam scoffed, giving Steve a playful punch to the shoulder from across the table.

The bar they were at was broadcasting a football match, but Bucky found himself constantly distracted by shouting and yelling from other viewers. 

If he thought about his comfort zone in the same way as a swimming pool, he was okay with the shallow end, hell he didn’t mind if only his toes could brush the tiled floor. The bar was the deep end. The bar was the ten-meter diving board. 

He was way out of his depth.

His burger could have been cardboard and he wouldn't have noticed. Atlas was alerting him like crazy, prodding at his leg and almost climbing into his lap. He ignored her, attempting to enjoy the first night out with friends in years.

He should have learned from every other time he’d ignored a problem, but he didn't. At some point, he excused himself to the bathroom and when he came back, Sam was gone. Steve was leant up against a wall, looking worried. There was a furrow in his brow as he scouted around the bar. 

His blue eyes, now sharp and icy instead of soft, locked onto his. Steve abruptly straightened and purposely walked over to him. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s head was nodding, but the diazepam he’d knocked back when he thought he was going to pass out in the bathroom was talking for him. He hated taking them, but he was too panicked to think clearly about the side effects of taking a drug that skyrocketed his GABA.

“You sure?” Steve pressed, his pretty face pinched in concern.

Bucky distracted by the thought of curling up in his apartment in sweatpants and watching some sort of nature documentary. He had walked to the bar with Atlas, a full forty minutes, instead of taking the subway. He walked straight from the session with Pepper to the bar, so it was probably an hour to get home. God, he just wanted to take a nap and get everything out of his system.

“I don't think I can get home,” he mumbled, frowning as he swayed on his feet.

_fucking tranquilizers_

“Too much to drink?” Steve laughed. “I took the subway so you can tag along with me if you want.”

Bucky reluctantly found himself agreeing. He the tiny pill was starting to really affect him; one blink was five minutes of wasted time. 

Steve taped in him when they got to the subway station, both Atlas and Steve dragging him through the crowd and onto the subway car. Steve sat him down before plopping down beside him. 

Steve’s exasperated voice cut through Bucky’s foggy mind. “Bucky.”

“Yeah,” Bucky responded, looking up from the shifting floor of the subway car. 

“I was calling you name for a while there, you doing okay?”

_God, why was Steve such a nice guy?_

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled, eyelids drooping from how fucking late it was but also the dugs that made him feel like a lead balloon.

“I don't know where your apartment is, but I don't want to abandon you on the subway like this...” Steve pressed, brows permanently furrowed in worry.

“Oh.” 

“How much did you drink, man? I didn’t see you drink anything all night.”

“Shhh, too many questions,” Bucky grumbled, changing focus back to the floor. Atlas was lying under his feet, her head rested on her paws. “What’s the closest?”

“Hmm?”

“Yours or mine; what’s closest?”

“Probably my apartment, but I don't know where yours is.” Steve insisted, poking Bucky when he didn't respond. 

Bucky rattled off his apartment complex while Steve opened up google maps. 

After a moment Steve looked up. “Mine’s closer. You can crash there if you want.”

“Okay.” 

“so you are gonna crash at my place?” Steve asked, not sure what Bucky was responding to. 

“Yeah.”

And so Bucky found himself on Steve’s couch in a pain or Steve’s too long sweatpants and yet another hoodie, his prosthesis resting on the coffee table. 

“I'm just confused about how you got drunk on lemonade and water.” Steve thought aloud, rolling over on his bed to look at Bucky. “You didn't order any drinks, but you're all dopey.”

Bucky scoffed but didn't say anything. 

“You aren't high, are you?” Steve asked, eyes wide.

“No, god no. me? Hight? Nah. I'm already fucked up enough.” Bucky laughed, rolling onto his back to look up at Steve’s ceiling. 

“Hey, you’re not fucked up.” Steve's cautionary tone made Bucky sigh. 

_ yeah, like I deserve your soft-hearted pitty_

“ diazepam; for anxiety,” he enlightened Steve, answering his previous questions.

Bucky did look at Steve, but he heard the shocked intake of air. “Oh, sorry,” came Steve’s small voice.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” Bucky replied. 

“Was it the bar?” Steve asked after a moment. Bucky stole a glance over at the other man, he too was staring at the ceiling. 

Bucky looked way as he answered. “Yeah.” he busied himself with trying to decipher if there was a crack in the paint of if it was a spider web.

“Sorry.”

“Stop being sorry, Rogers. You’re too soft.” Bucky groaned, rolling over to face Steve

Steve snorted, rolling over to make eye contact with Bucky. “I'm not soft.” He lazily ran a hand through his blond hair, like some sort of supermodel.

“You’ve got abs, but you’re still a big softy.” Bucky teased, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Bight me,” Steve growled; all bark and no bite. 

There was silence for a moment, not awkward, but natural: a breath in the conversation.

“My therapist's pregnant,” Bucky said to the ceiling, not sure why those words tumbled out of his mouth.

“That's nice,” Steve said. There was no rustling of sheets to imply that he turned over as well.

“Yeah, a little boy she reckons.”

“You sure see a lot of doctors,” Steve commented. Bucky wasn't sure if he was searching for information or just being observant.

“That happens when you cut off your arm,” Bucky replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes behind closed lids

“I used to be in the hospital all the time,” Steve stated, still not turning over. “I was a teen and because of my heart issues at the time I passed out a lot and couldn't get enough blood to my body.”

“Oh?” So rarely did Bucky get to learn about other people’s problems, mostly because everyone in his life was knee-deep in his own. 

“Yeah, I also had _the worst_ immune system. If there was a chilly breeze I got a cold. I can't count how many times I've had respiratory infections, not to mention hospitalizations for cracked ribs and fainting.”

“Ugh, that sucks. I can deal with not having an arm, but I despise being sick.” Bucky confessed, nose wrinkling at the idea of congestion and a runny nose. “I got chickenpox as a kid and that's the last time I remember being really sick.”

“Lucky. every winter I come down with the flu. I get the shot but every December, without fail: Bam! I've got the flu.”

“I'll mark it on my calendar,” Bucky chuckled. December was a week away anyway.

“Sam’s a great friend to have if you've got medical problems, he’s got everything stocked up in his apartment. If there’s ever an apocalypse I'm going over to Sam’s.” Steve stated.

“I think our friend group would do great in an apocalypse. I'm good at fighting, Sam can save lives, and you can take that role of the girl that always dies so we can survive.”

Instead of a witty comeback, Steve laughed, head falling back into his pillow as his chest shook. 

“Honestly, all I could do would be to draw the end of the world. I could make a graphic novel of the earth’s demise.”

“Hey,” Bucky started, completely serious, “that’d be useful.”

Steve cocked his brow incredulously. “Buck, how the hell would that be helpful?”

“Well,” Bucky thought for a moment. “What if, let's say the earth wasn’t obliterated, and you documented the end of the world, whoever survived, or later came to earth would be able to know what happened.”

Steve chuckled, before rolling to face away from Bucky, “uh-huh okay.”

“Don't laugh at me, Rogers.”

“I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at me.”

“Don't laugh at yourself either.”

“Goodnight Buck.”

“Night, Stevie.”

Bucky woke up to the sound of Steve’s coffee machine and the smell of the liquid caffeine wafting through Steve’s apartment. 

He was stiff and a little groggy as he sat up. Usually, Atlas woke him in the mornings, but his phone must have died sometime last night.

Steve sat at his part-kitchen-part-living-room table, a pad of paper and a pencil in his hands. 

_right, Steve liked art_

“Mornin’ “ Bucky mumbled, staggering to his feet and over to the freshly brewed coffee. 

“Oh! Good morning!” Steve replied cheerfully, far more lucid than Bucky was.

“Have you seen my arm?” Bucky asked, looking at the coffee table, sure he’d left it right there.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I moved it when I accidentally tripped over the table this morning.” Steve confessed, gesturing at the black plastic and metal prosthesis on Steve’s counter. “I'm not used to it being there; the table, not the arm.”

“Oh, okay thanks.” 

He tucked the arm under his residual limb and casually sipped on his coffee. 

“Hey, I don't mean to sound weird, but can I draw you?”

A little bit of coffee made its way up Bucky’s nose. 

“What?” he spluttered. 

“Sorry, nevermind,” Steve said, his face turning red as he went back to his drawing. 

“I didn't say no,” Bucky protested, feeling bad. “I just don't understand why.”

“It's for my class. I have to do a live drawing.”

“And you wanna draw… me?”

“Well, yeah. You're interesting to look at, I mean- the pose was good and you uh, just- it would look good in my portfolio. It’s not generic.” Steve stuttered, turning even more red as he tried to convey his thoughts. 

“You sayin’ I look good, Rogers?” Bucky teased, gulping his coffee.

“I guess?”

“You guess,” Bucky snorted. “Why not. Sure, you can draw me.”

Bucky situated himself on a stool and sipped his coffee while Steve sketched. 

Half an hour later Steve announced that he’d finished and Bucky sighed in relief, rolling his neck and feeling satisfied when it cracked loudly. 

“So, let's see.” he insisted, trying to peek over Steve’s shoulder. 

“Hey, no its-” Steve never finished as Bucky deeked around and plucked the pad of paper out of his grasp. 

“Hey, not bad, Rogers.” he complimented Steve, carefully observing what the other man had drawn. 

It was him, his new haircut looked a little funny on him still, or that could just be Steve making it look more messed up than usual, and he'd made Bucky look more muscular than he was. 

“Damn, you're killin’ it, Steve. I actually look good.”

Bucky especially liked how his prosthesis was tucked under his residual limb in the same way a woman would hold a purse, or someone would with a basketball; An accessory, not something necessary to him, just there.

“You do look good, Buck.” Steve replied, “that haircut did wonders for you.”

Bucky tossed the pad back to Steve, scoffing. “Way to make a guy feel loved.”

Steve only smirked, taking a sip of his own coffee and returning to his new sketch of Atlas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a family friend of mine actually had her baby today wich inspired me to give pepper and tony a baby, because i love kids lol. im trying not to rush steve and bucky's relationship, so its a bit of a slow burn, but it makes sence for both characters to take it slow. ive tried to skip unessasary time so the plost still advances without waisting your time. as always, i hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you (hopefully) come back for more :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some sick stucky to make your day

Steve wasn't lying when he said that he got the flu without fail every year. It was eleven am when Bucky’s doorbell rang, causing the man to jump out of his skin. Atlas blocked the entryway while Bucky unlocked the door and the deadbolt. 

He only realized he’d been holding his breath when he let it out with a sigh when the sight of Steve leaning heavily on the doorframe.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Bucky teased, releasing Atlas from her block task so Steve could fumble his huge frame through the doorway. 

“Yeah, well I didn't plan on coming, but I really needed some tissues.” the blond man sighed, rubbing his temples, brows pinched in concentration.

Bucky just blinked in confusion “what?”

“Congestion hit me out of the blue on my run.” Steve elaborated as he toed off his shoes.

“Couldn't you have gone back to your place?” buck asked as he handed Steve a box of tissues.

Steve gratefully look the box, blowing his nose gracelessly before replying. “Your address was the first thing that opened up on google maps. Wasn't thinking straight with the headache I've got going right now.”

Steve’s voice was raspy and his cheeks were flushed, but that could have been caused by the frigid air outside or the fact Steve had just gotten back from a run.

“So,” Bucky started, “you just showed up at my apartment because you're sick?” 

Steve’s lungs rattled as he sucked in a breath, a hit of a wheeze followed on the exhale. “Sorry.” somehow his voice dropped lower, his vocal cords sounded shredded from the cold.

“Just sit down while I make you a cup of tea or something. You think its a cold or…?”

Bucky didn't finish the sentence but he could already tell that with Steve’s stiff posture - and already having his own fair share of experience - he was experiencing aching muscles. The flu was most likely.

“feels like one. Could be my yearly flu, though; every December like clockwork.” Steve reinstated from a few weeks prior, his chuckle turning into a wheezing cough. 

Bucky fixated his glare on Steve, pointedly cocking his head towards the couch. “Sit, shut up, and let me get you your tea,” he commanded, pushing Steve towards the sofa.

“Atlas, up” he instructed his service dog, pointing to where Steve was now sprawled on the sofa.

Usual Steve was overjoyed to get cuddles from Atlas, but sick Steve wasn't a fan. shaking his head as he gently pushed Atlas off of his chest, he elaborated that respiratory infections triggered his asthma.

“I used to have it as a kid, but now I only get it when it's cold or when I'm sick,” he explained further. 

Bucky wrinkled his nose. Being sick was disgusting enough, not to mention have asthma on top of it. 

“Jesus, Steve. That sucks.” Bucky sighed as he rummaged around for an elusive teabag, none could be found, however.

“Big-time,” Steve said, voice faint. 

Bucky scoured his kitchen one last time for a tea bag - a single tea bag could do just fine - but was still empty-handed. Steve was now dozing and Bucky smiled softly at the scene; his huge, beefy friend was curled up on his sofa and a cartoonishly uncomfortable position, limbs folded so he could fit onto the offending furniture. 

For some reason, Bucky felt compelled to take a photo and send it to sam. sent him back an emoji that was crying from laughter, a notification that Sam had taken a screenshot appeared under the conversation a few seconds later.

His attention was pulled from his phone when Steve groaned, a pained sound, as he curled further into himself.

_right, tea_

Bucky shot Sam a few texts asking what he should get if he had the flu as he briskly walked to the nearest convenience store, Atlas trotting alongside him. 

Sam: _let me guess, Steve got the flu? _  
Sam: _im just glad you get him this year because I've dealt with his chronic flus for too long. TOO LONG!_  
Sam: _hmm, for supplies I’d day just grab some fever reducers, Tylenol, and ginger and lemon tea. That shit works wonders for a sore throat._

Bucky: _thanks, you’re a life-saver_

Sam: _np! Just don't let him charm you into letting him stay with his runny nose and constant wheezing. That man’s a menace___

_ _Bucky texted back a thumbs-up emoji as he approached the store._ _

_ _he sifted through aisles, grabbing things that seemed like they'd be good for a sick person. A plastic shopping cart was gripped in his prosthetic hand while he used his prosthetic one to grab items; the prosthesis was too weak to take the weight of a heavy shopping basket. Slowly but surely he grabbed items, ignoring the stares from the few people that inhabited the store. _ _

_ _He had the ginger and lemon tea and fever reducers Sam had suggested as well as a few cans of soup, twisty cap Gatorade, cough drops, and ginger ale. _ _

_ _The cashier looked sympathetic as he rang up Bucky’s total. He wasn't sure if it was because of the service dog and his missing arm, or the influx of flu supplies he was purchasings. _ _

_ _He muttered his thanks as he hurried to leave the store, plastic bag grasped firmly in his hand._ _

_ _The apartment was dark when Bucky shoved his way through the doorway, using his foot to shut the door again. He flicked on the lights, the flood of light accompanied by a groan. Steve was lying on the ground, face flush against the floor. He turned to look at Bucky, face red from what was now confirmed as a fever. He looked terrible._ _

_ _“Hey. I bought you some tea.” Bucky grunted as he unfastened Atlas from her harness before he marched over to Steve, who had returned to pressing his face back into the floor. _ _

_ _“You okay?” he asked, gently prodding Steve with his foot. _ _

_ _Steve only groaned again, squishing his nose deeper into the wood._ _

_ _“I can't hear you when you're talking to the ground, pal.” he chuckled as Steve partially rolled over to squint at him. _ _

_ _“Head’s fuckin’ killin’ me.” he mumbled, “couch was too hot.” _ _

_ _ “That sucks, but I got some stuff that might make you feel better,” Bucky explained, slipping into the persona he adopted around Becca, gentle and simple._ _

_ _“You're too good, buck,” Steve whispered more to himself or the floor than Bucky. “why're you s’nice?” _ _

_ _Bucky didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out the drinks he’d bought. “Gatorade, ginger ale, or lemon ginger tea?” he asked stiffly, trying to get Steve’s words out of his head._ _

_ _“Ginger ale.” came Steve’s curt reply, his voice breathy. _ _

_ _Bucky hummed in confirmation, getting up off the floor to put the Gatorade and the other cans of ginger ale in the fridge. “Well, if you want it you need to get up off the floor. It can't be good for your asthma to crush your lungs like that.”_ _

_ _Bucky was internally grasping at straws; He’d barely gotten sick as a kid, he only slightly remembered having the chickenpox when he was very little. He couldn't recall what his mom did when he was sick. He’d talked to soldiers while they bled out and that was the closest he’d ever gotten to being comforting. He tried hard not to envision Steve bleeding out on the floor. _ _

_ _A new intense need for Steve to get up took over him. _ _

_ _He couldn't afford to have a flashback or ay sort of anxiety attack while Steve was in the process of dying - not dying, just being sick - in his apartment._ _

_ _“Okay, up you go.” he hoisted Steve to his feet, freezing as the other man grabbed onto him for support. “You never do anything halfway, do you, pal?” he asked as Steve clutched onto him, his chest heaving. _ _

_ _“Stop, Bucky stop-” Steve gasped, as he tried to catch his breath, his voice was tight and cut off into wrenching coughs. _ _

_ _“Shit! Are you- shit! what do I do?” Bucky cursed, guessing Steve was going into an asthma attack. _ _

_ _Steve was gasping, air going into his lungs but seemingly getting stuck once it was there. He was holding onto Bucky like a lifeline as his airways swelled up. He coughed harshly, feeling his already delicate stomach try and come up through his throat. _ _

_ _“Gonna, gonna-” Steve tried to speak but with the combined coughing, gasping, and the sudden knowledge he was going to vomit, he could hardly speak. “Fuck.” he wheezed moments before his chest was covered in rancid stomach acid. _ _

_ _“Oh fuck! shit! Steve, it’s okay, shit shit shit.” Bucky swore under his breath, dragging the gagging man to the kitchen sink. He, somewhat forcefully, shoved Steve’s head over the basin before another flood of vomit gushed from his mouth. _ _

_ _They were both breathing harshly after the whole ordeal. Steve started apologizing before he even gained control of his lungs, casing another coughing fit that resulted in dry heaves._ _

_ _“Shut up, for god's sake Steven, It's okay,” Bucky growled as he pulled Steve’s soaking shirt off and threw it in the sink after washing the vomit out. Some of the rancid stuff had dripped onto his pants. A steady stream of curses fell from Bucky’s lips._ _

_ _He thrust a can of ginger ale at Steve, who took it in shaking hands, before Bucky steered him towards the couch, returning seconds later with a large salad bowl. _ _

_ _“Vomit in that if you need to,” he instructed before he went to get Steve a shirt and a pair of pants. Funnily enough, Bucky still had the shirt Steve had lent him months ago from the coffee incident and a pair of his sweats from the night he slept over a few weeks prior. _ _

_ _Deciding against the constricting shirts that Steve _only_ seemed to buy, Bucky settled on one of his own pullovers, two sizes too big from before his amputation when he couldn't stand to look at his own body. _ _

_ _He instructed Steve to strip out of his pants, almost laughing at the man’s blush if it had not blended so well with his fevered cheeks. _ _

_ _“Dude, I was in the army. I've seen some _shit._ you’re fine. him remove them and then helped him pull the sweats back on. _ _

_ _Bucky had no problem with seeing other people naked, years of the army had only reinforced that. He’d figured out he was demi when he was in high school, only being attracted to a person after making an emotional connection. He felt no sexual desire for people, but he did find them attractive. _ _

_ _And fuck him Steve was attractive. _ _

_ _But he was also a sweaty, achy, wheezing mess. It was hard to feel anything but pity for the guy. _ _

_ _He left Steve to nurse the ginger ale while he stepped into his bedroom to make a call._ _

_ _“Mom!” he exclaimed as soon as she picked up, “you gotta help me.”_ _

_ _“Are you okay? Bucky what-” she started, sounding panicked._ _

_ _“I'm fine, but my friend has the flu and I don't know what the fu- what I'm supposed to do. He just threw up and he's all fevery and-” _ _

_ _“Darling, just slow down.” his mother interrupted, voice no longer panicky. “You don't usually throw up if you have the flu, are you sure that’s what he has?”_ _

_ _“He coughed so hard he vomited, mom. Should I take him to a hospital or something? I don't know anything about taking care of sick people.” Bucky asked her, starting to pace the small space between his bed and the wall._ _

_ _“The poor boy,” his mother sighed sympathetically. “Make sure he drinks lots so he doesn’t get dehydrated and make sure he gets some sleep. The flu just takes time.”_ _

_ _“How do I, I don't know… comfort him? He feels really gross and I don't want him to feel worse.”_ _

_ _“Bucky, I'm sure you'll do just fine. if he feels achy get him a hot water bottle or something similar. You’ll both be okay.” she reassured him. “I'm sorry love, but I've got to get back to work. I can drop off some soup if he’ll still be at your apartment tomorrow.”_ _

_ _“He might be. I don't trust him to stand upright by himself.” Bucky admitted. _ _

_ _“You’ll do fine, now go take care of your man and I'll bring soup over first thing tomorrow.”_ _

_ _“Okay. thanks, mom,” he said, not addressing the _your man_ statement. Steve was as much of his man as the cashier at the convenience store._ _

_ _He shook out the tension in his limbs before braving the kitchen/living/dining room._ _

_ _Steve had squished himself into one corner of the sofa, knees tucked into his chest as Atlas lay beside him. He was holding the ginger ale can to his forehead._ _

_ _“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, lightly teasing as he sat down beside Atlas. _ _

_ _“Helps the headache and it's cold,” Steve mumbled, eyes shut tightly. _ _

_ _“Headache huh Are the lights bothering you?” he asked as he got up to get the bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. _ _

_ _“Mm-hmm,” Steve hummed in confirmation, sighing in relief as Bucky turned off the lights on his way to the bathroom._ _

_ _He wordlessly handed Steve two Tylenol and watched as Steve knocked them back with a swig of ginger ale. _ _

_ _“That should help. How’s your throat?”_ _

_ _“Like funkin’ sandpaper.” Steve groaned, letting his head loll back against the backrest of the sofa. _ _

_ _“I got some cough drops if you want one,” Bucky offered, handing out a wrapped candy to Steve. _ _

_ _“Fuck Bucky, you're so much nicer than Sam,” Steve said, moaning as the cough drop worked its magic. “I know I'm all gross ‘n stuff when I'm sick but it hits me like a fuckin’ airplane on a runway. He’s great n’ all, but he can be so...” Steve made a gesture that could have meant anything, so Bucky just nodded._ _

_ _“Hey, your good company, so as long as you don't vomit on me,” Steve cringed, “ and you don't get me sick, then we’re okay,” Bucky said, scooching over when Atlas jumped off the sofa. _ _

_ _Steve nodded, bringing the can back up to his forehead as he leant into Bucky. _ _

_ _“Want to watch something?” Bucky asked turning on the tv, trying not to gasp as Steve buried his face in the crook of his neck when light flooded the room. His breath was hot and heavy on Bucky’s skin and heat radiated from his skin._ _

_ _“Sure,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s shoulder, his lips brushing against his skin._ _

_ _“What do you want to watch? I’ve got Netflix and prime.” Bucky asked, trying to sound as though he wasn't imagining the interaction in a different light. _ _

_ _“Big Hero 6?” Steve asked tentatively, peeking out from Bucky’s shoulder as he scrolled through Netflix. _ _

_ _“Alright.”_ _

_ _Bucky hadn’t cuddled anyone besides Rebecca and Atlas for a long time. Relationships in the army were quick and dirty, more for need than comfort in his cases. He’d had a girlfriend in high school. She had been a year or two younger than him, a dancer. They’d gone to movies in the theatre and she’d leaned against him like Steve was doing now, except it didn't feel the same way. He’d loved Natalia, but what he had with Steve was still unknown to him. _ _

_ _“You feeling okay?” Bucky would ask intermittently, sometimes getting up to grab a throw blanket, another ginger ale, or a cup of tea for Steve and a cup of much-needed coffee for himself. _ _

_ _They slipped away on their respective drinks, Steve curled up next to him and Atlas on her bed. _ _

_ _This was good, this was… home. _ _

_ _The realization his him as Steve nodded off his mug slipping slightly from his lax grip. Bucky plucked it from Steve’s hands, starting to get up when Steve grabbed hold of him, mumbling something before snuggling closer to Bucky. _ _

_ _ _shit_ _ _

_ _The feeling of love hit him like a bus. There was something about the moment that caused Bucky to realize that he wanted this feeling, a feeling that drowned out the numbness. _ _

_ _A few tears slipped down his cheeks as he realized how normal he felt. All of the progress he had been working on suddenly seemed to catch up and he was able to feel like he’d accomplish something. He had his beautiful dog and his wonderful friend slash possible crush with him and everything seemed _normal_ for once. _ _

_ _“Bucky?” Steve’s husky voice vibrated against his shoulder._ _

_ _ _the residual one,_ he noticed. Steve wasn't shying away from his amputated arm and that thought only made more tears slip down his cheeks. _ _

_ _“You're crying, are you okay?” Steve asked, peeling away from Bucky to look at him with slightly glazed eyes. _ _

_ _God, he loved Steve. As a friend or as something else, he didn't care. _ _

_ _Instead of answering Bucky smiled - a real smile - and pulled Steve into a hug, mindful of his delicate lungs._ _

_ _“Buck?”_ _

_ _“I'm okay. I'm okay.” Bucky breathed, focused on trying to adsorb all of Steve’s warmth. “I'm okay.”_ _

_ _“Okay.”_ _

_ _At some point Bucky had sleepily pulled Steve into his room and set him down on the bed, intending to take the sofa for the night until Steve grabbed his wrist. _ _

_ _“Stay? You’re cold and it's too hot.”_ _

_ _So Bucky stayed, letting Steve curl around him, the other man's forehead pressed into the nape of his neck. Bucky ran cold most days, and Steve was radiating heat like a space heater. A hint of concern about getting sick drifted into Bucky’s fading consciousness, but he ignored it. _ _

_ _-_ _

_ _Atlas still did her job, even if Steve had wrapped himself around Bucky like a needy koala. She nosed his face a few times, only needing to wake him once, Steve’s warmth was enough to drown out the constant feeling of freezing he had after nightmares. _ _

_ _Steve’s fever was still persistent but it had gone down, or Bucky had just adjusted to the temperature. He couldn't tell so after a moment of listening to Steve shallow breaths, be got up to search for a thermometer. _ _

_ _As it turned out, he didn't have one. So instead of his morning jog over to the park, Bucky ran to the convenience store, teeth chattering at the freezing temperature. It truly was a convenience store; Bucky was able to get his thermometer for less than ten dollars. He took his time on his run back despite the cold, giving Atlas the exercise she needed for the morning at his own expense. _ _

_ _Steve was still asleep when he got back, tangled fitfully in the bedsheets. He’d lost the sweatshirt at some point during the night and Bucky had to drag his eyes away from Steve's chest. _ _

_ _The man was fucking _ripped_._ _

_ _He wasn't a bodybuilder, he still had a soft layer over all the muscle he’d gained, but still. He was just right, firm but not rock solid._ _

_ _The thought made Bucky blush as he ripped open the thermometer's packaging. He managed to give himself one hell of a cut on the thin plastic and so he quickly bandaged himself up. While he was in the bathroom he also ran through his morning arm routine, massaging and moisturizing his shoulder. He didn't plan on wearing his prosthesis but he still rolled on his shrinker, sighing at the comfort the encompassing pressure gave the residual arm. _ _

_ _There was a soft groan from his bedroom that made Bucky peak into the room. Steve was still mostly asleep, by no means lucid, but he was starting to stir. _ _

_ _The thermometer in hand, Bucky padded into his kitchen to make himself some coffee and Steve his tea. Part of him was confused as to why Steve was even in his apartment at all. Surely Bucky could have sent him to his own apartment to get better. He was glad he didn't for the most part. He would risk getting sick if it meant Steve felt better. _ _

_ _His coffee machine beeped and Bucky instantly brought the mug to his lips, relieved at the taste of coffee while cursing as the hot liquid scalded the roof of his mouth. Panting, tongue sticking it to try and cool it off, Bucky grabbed two ice cubes from the freezer and plunked them into his coffee. _ _

_ _He took more care in making Steve’s tea: making sure to add a bit of cold water and honey for his throat. _ _

_ _With the two mugs and the thermometer, Bucky carefully returned to the bedroom. He placed Steve’s tea beside him while he brought his coffee over to his side of the bed, revelling in the warmth of Atlas curled up on his legs and his coffee. _ _

_ _The new york sky was a dull grey, snowflakes drifting lazily down to the ground. His apartment didn't have the best view, but he still enjoyed the tiny window of sky he managed to get. More central NYC had huge buildings that spanned the skyline, blocking out his view of the sunrise while they soaked up every ounce of it. _ _

_ _Steve had shuffled himself closer to Bucky, his breath whistling through his nose. _ _

_ _Feeling a little bad at waking Steve up while he was so peaceful, Bucky was a little concerned that he still had a fever, even with the reducer’s he’d taken last night. _ _

_ _“Steve, hey Steve,” she whispered, gently shaking Steve’s shoulder. _ _

_ _The blond man did not stir._ _

_ _“Steve. Steven grant rogers. You gotta wake up buddy.” Bucky said louder, shaking Steve a bit more forcefully. _ _

_ _With a sharp inhale Steve’s eyes opened and the coughing started. Bucky helped him sit upright, trying to ease the strain on Steve’s lungs. _ _

_ _“There you go, get it all out rogers.” Bucky encouraged, rubbing Steve’s back as he coughed._ _

_ _After Steve was able to catch his breath and take a few sips of tea, Bucky finally let down his guard, muscles loosening from their tightly wound state. _ _

_ _“Ugh,” Steve groaned, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry, James.”_ _

_ _“ it’s not your fault. And what's with ‘James?’ it’s always Bucky.” _ _

_ _“Still, sorry.”_ _

_ _“You apologize too much, punk.”_ _

_ _The morning progressed as usual, however, Bucky excluded his usually work out and instead opted to put on a documentary about coral that popped up on Netflix while he made breakfast. _ _

_ _Contradictory to sam, Bucky could cook. He could make decent food with what he had. His strong suit was breakfast because it was quick and easy, but Sam was always appalled by anything he made. _ _

_ _Well, fuck that because Bucky could make mean banana pancakes. _ _

_ _As a pancake lover, but also a fitness junky, Bucky had wanted to find a happy medium between always wanting to eat pancakes and also not being able to always eat pancakes. So, when he’d received his honourable discharge, he’d indulged in learning everything about pancakes. Looking back it was strange how much time he’d put into making and learning about pancakes, but Pepper had said it was a coping mechanism for his traumatized brain. _ _

_ _And so Bucky had discovered the life-changing four ingredient banana pancake recipe. _ _

_ _Two mashed banana, three eggs and two tablespoons of flour with a pinch or two of flax seeds; mix, fry in a little bit of oil et _voila_ delicious pancakes. _ _

_ _Sometimes he added blueberries, peanut butter, cinnamon, or coconut if he wanted to mix things up. banana pancakes were usually cooked at least twice a week in the apartment. _ _

_ _They also smelled fucking delicious. _ _

_ _The tiny apartment was filled with the warm scent of fried bananas; a sweet smell with a hint of salt form the butter. when Bucky’s mother knocked at the door, a container of soup under one arm and a load of heading pads under the other. _ _

_ _Steve was settled on the couch, Atlas had compromised with Steve that she was allowed to rest her head on his chest and what was left of her lie on his legs, far away from his lungs._ _

_ _Bucky prematurely plated the last pancake, jogging over to the door to let his mother in. when the door opened a gust of cool air flooded the apartment and with it came Winnifred Barnes. _ _

_ _His mother had her long hair up in a neat bun, only flyaways pulled out of the wind framed her face. She was wrapped tightly in a winter coat, snowflakes still melting as she quickly shut the door behind her. She was wearing heels, despite the snow that had started to accumulate on the ground, the rest of her work clothes undoubtedly hidden under her coat. _ _

_ _“Jamie, your apartment looks lovely!” she exclaimed as Bucky internally facepalmed. His mother hadn't been round to the apartment after he’d refurbished it. _ _

_ _“Thanks,” he said cheerfully. “you haven't been here in a while, I guess.”_ _

_ _He let his mother inspect his apartment from the hall; if you could even call it that. It was more of a transition from the door to the main living space, not long enough to be classified as a hall._ _

_ _“I just finished some pancakes for me and Steve, if you're not too pushed to get to work, you could have breakfast with us.”_ _

_ _“That’d be lovely,” she smiled sweetly before leading up to whisper in his ear. “Where is your friend?” she inquired._ _

_ _“Oh, yeah. Hey Steve! My mom dropped off some soup for you.”_ _

_ _Bucky watched, stiffening a chuckle as Steve scrambled to get up off the couch, Atlas doing a much better job as she bounded over, wagging her tail happily._ _

_ _“Hello Atlas, and- “ her voice tapered off as she looked up at Steve, who was shirtless and only wearing low riding sweatpants. She just looked at Bucky, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Her wordless exclamation of “_this_ is Steve? _this_ is the man you’ve been talking about for the past few months? How’d you bag this one, Bucky?”_ _

_ _Bucky shrugged, trying to answer as many of the question rifling through his mother's mind. _ _

_ _Winnifred turned back to Steve who had thankfully missed the whole telepathic conversation, as she was trying to strategically fold his arms to cover his chest. _ _

_ _“Hello, Steve. I'm James’ mother. I'm sorry we had to meet in such circumstances, but my son,” she fixed Bucky with a look that radiated the promise of another conversation, “has a terrible habit of never introducing his friends.”_ _

_ _Steve shifted from one foot to the other trying not to blush. “Oh, yes well I'm sorry you had to meet me while I'm all gross and sick.” he sniffed, face growing redder. “Thank you for the soup; that's very kind of you.”_ _

_ _“Oh, no problem, sweetheart. I'm happy to help,” she said, discreetly giving Bucky a wink as she placed the container of soup on his counter. _ _

_ _Steve quickly excused himself to get on a shit. _ _

_ _“James Buchanan Barnes. You didn’t tell me your friend was so… so..”_ _

_ _“Attractive? Ripped? handsome?” Bucky supplied when his mother was lost for how to describe Steve._ _

_ _“Well, yes... I suppose” she agreed, settling down in on the chairs at his kitchen/ living room table. “Are you two…?” she wiggled her eyebrows scandalously. _ _

_ _“_mom_!” Bucky blushed, almost a rival for Steve’s fevered cheeks. “No, were just… friends.”_ _

_ _His mother scoffed and he almost shot back a witty comeback until he realized Steve and reappeared, adorning one of Bucky's oversized sweaters. _ _

_ _They ate their banana and blueberry pancakes at the kitchen/ dining room table, Steve still beet red and Bucky quickly turning the same colour as his mother asked questions she should have been asking a couple. _ _

_ _“So… Steve, what do you do for a living?” she asked innocently as they ate._ _

_ _Steve swallowed a chunk of pancake thicky before answering. “Well, I'm working at a gym as a trainer but I’m looking into a job with stark industries for product marketing and design.”_ _

_ _“Ah yes, the infamous tony stark. He’s climbed to the top of the technology industry, isn't he? I'm sure you'll do wonderfully, honey.”_ _

_ _“Thanks, Mrs. Barnes.”_ _

_ _“Oh please, call me Winnie.”_ _

_ _Steve’s fever did a good job of disguising his blush and the soup was worth all the awkward questions._ _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas-y angst and fluff (also a DATE!)

By Christmas Bucky had caught whatever mutant flu had taken out Steve, and later Sam. Coughing and shivering he did his Christmas shopping, making sure to get something for red and Atlas as well as family and friends. Sushi, peach and Ariel all got a collective gift of frozen shrimp treats. 

He was Rudolph oh the day of Christmas Eve, nose red from the constant sniffling. He’d had plans with Steve and Sam to go out for drinks (or virgin drinks in Bucky's case) but he had cancelled when he'd coughed so hard Atlas ran in from the other room to make sure he was okay. 

The holidays had sucked up all of Bucky's spare time and he was exhausted. Now, finally giving himself time to stop and breathe, or wheeze in his current condition, he felt the full force of his hell cold from another dimension. 

Pepper had pointed out several times that he has a terrible habit of working himself until he finally either acknowledged his problem or keeled over.

He was approaching the second of the two options. 

He was still in his winter coat and scarf when he fell asleep on his bed, last-minute presents still in the shopping bags from that evening. 

He awoke to Atlas nosing him with her cold, cold, cold nose and a heavy thumping sound from the main room. 

He jumped up unsteadily and shook his head to try and clear away the fuzz of sleep and the hell cold. All it did was make him dizzy and aggregate his headache. 

Atlas pawed over to the front door, Bucky stumbling after her. 

"James?" Asked a deep voice from the other side of the door. 

Bucky's heart was going a mile a minute and all he could focus on was how fucking cold his apartment was. 

"Bucky? You home pal?" 

The flashback to the Russian bunker displayed into smoke as Bucky recognized his friend Steve on the other side of the door.

With fumbling fingers he managed to unlock all the locks on his door and stepped back as it swung open. In front of him, both Sam and Steve stood in his small doorway. Red, Sam's dog, was bouncing with anticipation. 

Atlas wagged her tail ferociously as the two men trudged into Bucky's apartment, snow falling from the creases of their winter coats and hats. 

"Jeez buck, you weren't kidding about the cold," Steve said, reaching out towards Bucky. 

He couldn't help the flinch. Even with knowing Steve for months now, and being almost the best of friends, he still flinched at both Steve and Sam's attempts of contact. 

A flash of hurt crossed Steve's face before he retracted his hand. 

"Did you actually fall asleep in all of this?" Sam asked, cocking a brow in question as he gestured at all of Bucky's winter gear still on him. His dishevelled hair and hazy eyes bust have been a dead giveaway.

Feeling very not up to talking, Bucky just grunted and pulled his scarf tighter around him. He led Sam and Steve over to the couch while red ran in happy circles around the group. Steve branched off to his kitchen and Sam managed to sit him down on his sofa. 

"You don't look so hot, Bucky." He observed. 

"S'cold," he only managed to reply, sinking into the comfort of Atlas' body heat as she did her DTP. With Atlas sprawled on his lap and chest, he felt warm and secure.

Steve wordlessly handed him a mug of warm tea, but Bucky's nose was too clogged to figure out the flavour it was.

"Definitely a fever, pretty bad chooks as well." Sam mused, eyeing Bucky's arm. "how's your arm doing? Does it hurt more or less than usual?" 

"More," he groaned, realizing how much his joints cracked and groaned when he moved. The arm in question was on fire; pins and needles tormented his left side. His shrinker did nothing to dull the sensation. 

"Seems like your death cold is actually the death flu" sam concluded. " 'figured you'd get it at some point."

Bucky just groaned again and tried to submerge himself in the couch. 

He fell asleep shortly after Sam made him take a luke-warm shower and Steve made mood tea. 

They'd decided to skip drinks and instead, check up on him. Bucky would have beaten himself up for cancelling plans if he did not feel like a reincarnated sack of potatoes.

They watched some movies and eventually red and Sam had to go, but Steve insisted he had nowhere to be so Christmas Eve was spent wrapped in Steve's arms watching _Love Actually_.

"Hey Steve?" Buck asked, head weakly lifting from Steve's toned chest so he could look at the other man.

"Yeah?" Steve replied offhandedly, completely engrossed with the movie.

"We should be 'n this."

"Oh?" Steve tried to hide his surprise with a chuckle. "Should we?"

"Hmm-hmm" Bucky hummed, head falling limply back to Steve's chest. "there's no representation." 

"Ah."

A few moments later Bucky was once again restless and wiggling himself to get a better look at Steve. 

"Hey Steve?" 

"Yes, Bucky?"

"You've already had the flu. Can you get it again?" 

"Nope, think I've already had my annual flu." 

"Oh. okay. Good " 

For weeks he could not get Steve out of his head, once he'd realized there was a spark the whole matchbox went up in flames. 

"Hey Steve? 

"What Bucky?" Steve chuckled, holding the other man against his chest endearingly.

"Want to go out for coffee with me tomorrow?"

"Buck, we go out for coffee all the time. Of course i- "

Bucky interrupted Steve's response with a panicked voice. "As a date?" 

The background noise from the movie was much louder when Steve didn't respond. 

"Wakanda?" Steve asked after a moment, a small smile gracing his face as he looked down at Bucky.

"Yeah- yeah that's good- great. That'd be great," the brunette stuttered.

He fell asleep in the glow of the tv, Atlas resting her head in his lap and Steve’s strong arms around him. He told himself he could be embarrassed about it when he felt better.

**.**  
.  
. 

Three things registered to Bucky when he woke up:

  1. He was sweaty as _fuck_
  2. He distinctly remembered falling asleep insoft of the tv, not his bed
And finally 
  3. His arm was absolutely killing him

Gritting his teeth against the pain from his head and residual limb, Bucky slowly got out of bed and trudged into the bathroom. He downed his pills in the shower before Atlas needed to remind him, swallowing them down with the warm water- gross but efficient. The hot water both soothed and aggravated the pain. The heat helped the actual feeling of the missign arm dissipate, but instead, the sensation of water running over the sensitive skin was too much for Bucky to take in such a hyper-aware state. 

Pepper had though his sensory overload issues were a manifestation of his need to take in as much information as he could for a means of securing himself. This included smells, sounds and feelings aside from the visual aspect. He was paranoid about being vulnerable and having a blind spot. 

He found it hard to understand why being able to feel each thread of the towel scraping against his skin would help him sense a HYDRA agent in his tiny new york apartment. 

Despite feeling disgusting, he still needed to meet his mother and Rebecca for Christmas morning. Andrew would be there too. Maybe it would be better than the last time-

His thoughts stopped in their tracks as ice shot up his spine. The front door was being unlocked and opened. He only had one key to his apartment, which was in his possession.

His fight, fight, or freeze response took over. Bucky was never one to back down from a fight. 

In loose sweat pants and soaking wet hair, he grabbed the closest thing he could use as a weapon. The ceramic take li from his toilet would have to do. 

With the crude weapon in a death grip, Bucky silently edged his way out of the bathroom, though the bedroom, and slowly into the main room of his apartment. Atlas was nowhere to be seen. 

“Im armed!” he called out, in half cover from the door, not feeling the need to clarify what he was armed with. He was still a trained special forces Sargent, and that meant the person who broke in had picked the _wrong_ apartment. 

“What-” came a confused voice from the doorway. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor was accompanied by soft crinkling plastic. 

Bucky’s sniper instincts kicked in, he slowed his hammering heartbeat and was able to pick up on the intruder’s panicked breathing and indecisive movements. 

A shallow inhale came from the other man before he spoke. “Why- why are y-you armed?”

“You broke into my fucking apartment. Of course I'm going to be fucking armed.” Bucky growled, letting out a slow breath before creeping into the main room. Atlas was by his side all of a sudden, eyes wide as she tried to paw at him. Worried she’d get hurt, Bucky shoved her into his bedroom and closed the door with a slam. 

“Jesus, James you’re scaring me here. Just calm down. I promise I didn’t break into your apartment.” came the voice again, the wavering tone indicated his fear. 

He sounded heavy by the way he shifted his weight, and his voice wasn’t accented, but HYDRA has all types of agents, not one was safe- he wasn’t safe. The sensation of uneven floorboards under his bare feet and the steady dripping water from his wet hair made Bucky furious. There was someone in his apartment and he was getting distracted by fucking water. He was a goddamn special forces Sergent, he could take out _one_ hydra agent. 

“James-”

“Did they send you?” 

“Who? What? No one sent me-”

“Bullshit! Who are you?”

“Its Steve, Bucky.”

“BULLSHIT!”

“Steven Grant Rogers, personal trainer and artist. Bucky are you okay-”

“Don't you dare call me that! You’re some fort of- you’re a monster!”

Part of him believed the agent, they sounded just like Steve, scarily like Steve. But it was Christmas day; Steve had family to visit and Bucky had to take this operative out before more came. 

He made his way to the corner of the room, only a few paces from the source of the panicked breathing. Huh, hydra must be short on the good assassins. 

“Did you read some files, huh? Do some research on my friends? You dare impersonate _my family_!?” Bucky seethed, finally whipping around the corner only to come to face to face with-

_Steve_

The toilet lid fell from his grasp and slammed into the floor with a sickening crunch. 

Steve looked ready to faint, his face pale and whole body shudders were coursing through him. 

Bucky’s legs were turning to jelly as he tried to take in oxygen, the void of his mind sucking him into an endless cycle self-degradation. 

Steve was scooping him up in a tight hug and Bucky was so unresponsive all he could do was weakly latch on to Steve’s downy coat. 

“Your okay, it’s me. I swear it’s just me, you’re okay. You’re okay. No one’s coming to get you. It’s going to be okay,” Steve repeated like a broken record.

Relief washed through Bucky before absolute mortification could bubble to the surface. They stayed like that for several minutes until Bucky was somewhat coherent and back in his right mind.

“- Atlas-” he choked out “I shoved her...”

“She’ll be okay. You were trying to protect her,” Steve reasoned, squeezing him when his breathing sped up. 

Bucky peeled himself away from Steve and as he was taking a step towards his bedroom, hot fiery pain travelled up his nerves from his foot to his spine.

It was so sudden Bucky let out a gasp as his foot was engulfed in agony. 

“Holy fuck-shit fuck god” he cursed, immediately taking the pressure off his foot and grabbing onto Steve and the closest wall. 

“Are you okay?” Steves deep and worried voice asked from behind.

“fucked up my foot.” he groaned, trying to power through as he hobbled back to his bedroom door to let Atlas out. She began licking his hands as she accompanied him to the couch, letting him lean against her for support. 

As they walked back to Steve a trail of blood showed his past footsteps. 

“Fuck, Bucky that looks really-” Steve had to look away as his stomach flipped. Gore had always been an issue for him. 

“Oh fuck, did I break it?” Bucky gasped as he finally took a look at his foot, which was swelling up as he spoke.

“Hospital?” Steve asked with a tight voice. 

“I think I'll be okay. I have some stuff in the bathroom,”

Calmly Bucky instructed Atlas to take him to the bathroom where he dug a shard of porcelain out of his foot and taped his swollen baby toe to its neighbour. The break probably wasn’t that bad if it was even broken at all. 

Steve was looking a little green when he returned. He was trying to clean up the bloody footprints Bucky had made. 

“Sorry.” Bucky said with a shrug and a tiny smile. Just his luck to not only come mere moments from attacking his friend with a toilet cover but also possibly breaking his toe on Christmas morning.

“It's fine- okay well it’s not really fine, but we can work with it.” Steve sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand not holding a bloody rag. 

“Shit- Steve I'm really sorry I thought you were… someone who wasn't you.”

“Yeah. bullshit, right?”

Steve was angry. Bucky could tell by the way he forced the words out of a stiff jaw and how his fist had made bloody water start to drip from the rag in his hand. 

“Im really sorry-”

“It's not your fault.” Steve said with a harsh sigh. “I just… you thought it was going to hurt you.” 

Steve visually deflated as he spoke, not longer seething anger. 

“I wasn't thinking... Steve, I know you wouldn't hurt me-”

Steve suddenly reached for Bucky, his instant reaction was to move away from the oncoming hand. 

“Sure you do.” Steve deadpanned, looking like a kicked puppy with stormy eyes. “God, I thought we were doing okay. We were even going to on a date of all things!” he laughed sadly, running a hand through his hair. “I guess you don't completely remember that.”

“Short term memory stuff,” Bucky said quietly, shrinking in on himself under Steve’s instance stare. 

“I'm not-” Steve opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. “Im.. I'm not mad at _you_ Bucky. I'm just… someone or something made you scared of me, and maybe I shouldn't try and push this relationship farther than-”

He got no further because Bucky was bustling with annoyance.

“I want it to go further, just because I'm mentally fucked doesn't mean I'm scared of you. Atlas makes me flinch sometimes, Steven. My own mother makes me flinch and I've known her my whole life. My mental illness and disorders are not directed at an action or a person, it's just a reflex because of a situation that happened long before I met you.”

He was leaning in a Bucky was nervous Steve would lean away, making it clear he didn't want this. But he didn't move away. He didn't move closer either. His soft blue eyes flickered back and forth between Bucky’s as if reading him. 

“I want this, with you, If you’ll let me,” he said softly, leaning in more. He could smell the faint hint of coffee that Steve always seemed to have. 

“Are you- but- James-”

“I’m sure.” 

“Is it okay if I kiss you? because I've wanted to do this for months.”

Steve only gave a tiny nod, his eyes still searching in Bucky’s.

Steve’s lips were soft against his cracked ones, his hair was soft where Bucky tangled his fingers in the strands at the nape of his neck. Steve was a sweet kisser, very vanilla. His large hands were hesitant to even touch Bucky, but eventually one found its way to Bucky’s jaw, delicately stroking at stubbled skin. He’d had no time to shave. 

They broke apart and a little tail of saliva still connected their lips, blushing Steve wiped it away, unable to meet Bucky’s eyes at first, but he was smiling down at the floor.

“Okay that was- that was really nice. Uh, I have something for you,” Steve mumbled, going back to where he’d dropped whatever it was in the front hall. 

Steve came back with a small plastic bag, inside were two wrapped presents. “I had to get them from my apartment, I forgot to bring them last night,” he said sheepishly as he handed them over to Bucky. 

“Oh, wow Steve that's very nice. I have something for you too. Hold on a sec.” Bucky hobbled over to where his Christmas tree was. It was only three feet tall, about half of Steve's height. Rebecca had helped him make paper ornaments and even some of the ones he’d put on his Christmas trees with his mom and dad when he was very little. He’d found some old lights for free online and they glowed dimly, just right for Bucky’s drab apartment. 

He’d splurged a little on Steve if he was being honest. Steve was a fine arts guy, it was his passion, profession and hobby. And Steve, being Steve, had the most obscure hobbies. Vinyl records were so out of date it wasn't funny, but Steve cherished his small collection like a mother would her child. So Bucky, bing Bucky, had murdered him a record. Not any record, but a custom record. He played thirty dollars and created his record for Steve. There was only room for five minutes per side, but Bucky was able to get a solid 4 songs on the thing. He had two by frank Sinatra because the man made beautiful music, a gag song by Katy perry; that turned out to be pretty catchy and not the worst thing he’d ever heard, and a few more 1940’s esque music. 

Steve loved it, of course. 

Bucky received a three new patches for Atlas’ vest, one that was a compass and a map, another read “im cute, I'm working, don't touch me”, and the last one said, “please engage with my Instagram @ AtlasTheServiceDog not me, I'm working!”

“Wow! Steve these are great!” Bucky laughed, calling Atlas over to have her sniff the patches. “What do you think, girl?” Atlas wagged her tail at Bucky’s happy toned voice, her tongue lolling out of her mouth in a smile.

“This is for you,” Steve said, handing over the other small parcel. “It might be stepping over a boundary so I'm sorry but I thought this would help.”

Inside the parcel were rubber dog tag covers. At first Bucky froze up, even just thinking about the weight around his neck made him stiff. 

“You hated when they clanged together, so the rubber case will make them less noisy.” Steve clarified.

“Oh”

Bucky was pissed that his fingers shook as he pulled the tags out from under his blue and gold jumper. He still wore them as a reminder, even if they brought back unpleasant memories. A reminder of what could have happened, a reminder for the rest of his team…

Gentle fingers wrapping around his own, callused ones. The metal still clinked together, each cold metallic sound chilling Bucky to the bone. But the tags were in Steve’s warm hands as he slipped the covers onto the identification tags. 

He felt stupid, that these hammerepices of metal had controlled him- still continued to control him. 

BARNES  
JAMES B.  
325-57-038  
B POS  
NO PREFERENCE

The number repeated over and over in his head. 

_325-57-038, 325-57-038, 325-57-038, 325-75-0_-

“There,” Steve said, voice sounding pleased. The tags jingled slightly, but the plastic coating around the edge dampened the sound. 

Steve gently tucked the ID back under Bucky’s sweater, letting his hand press against his chest where the tags hung. His fingers brushed against one of the many mangled scars on Bucky’s upper body. Bucky tried not to flinch as Steve’s hand started to trace the deformity up to his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, clearing his throat and stepping back from Steve. “please don't… uh, scars and stuff…” 

Steve’s eyes widened as he immediately retracted his hand. “Of course, sorry.”

With his tags safely tucked out of the way and his own presents ready to be delivered, Steve Bucky decided to get coffee together in the new year, to kick off 2020 with the right company.


End file.
